Gotham Knights
by drewben
Summary: The sequel to "The Dark Knight." Gotham City discovers how much they truly need protecting...
1. Chapter 1

Gotham Knights

**I do not own these characters. DC does. I wish I did, b/c then I'd be rich, not writing Fan Fic...**

**Since this is a sequel to the Dark Knight, I'll list the cast of principle characters. **

Bruce Wayne/ Batman: Christian Bale

Alfred Pennyworth: Michael Caine

Lucius Fox: Morgan Freeman

Dr. Harleen Quinzel: Elizabeth Banks

James Gordon: Gary Oldman

Mayor Garcia: Nestor Carbonell

The Joker: Johnny Depp (Just wait...)

O.C. Cobblepot: Bob Hoskins

Sal Maroni: Eric Roberts

Mike Engel: Anthony Michael Hall

As more characters are introduced, I'll give a cast listing for them...

**Gotham Knights**

**Chapter 1**

Commissioner Jim Gordon was not having a good day. Between the ever-expanding manhunt for Batman, now sitting atop the somewhat illustrious "Gotham's Most Wanted" list, his problems at home, and the ever-closer celebration for Gotham's annual "Founder's Day celebration," for which he was both on the director's board AND head of security, Gordon hadn't had a day off in quite some time. And now, with the always-present rumors that "he" was plotting his breakout of Arkham Asylum, the commissioner's office had elevated its own level of activity to dangerously high levels.

"I just don't have enough people," Gordon observed to himself as he watched his hardworking but hopelessly undermanned crew of police staffers bustle about their days with dogged determination and a nearly unbreakable sense of duty. Ever since the disappearance of Batman, his patrol officers had encountered an unprecedented level of violent crime, as if the criminal underworld were collectively daring Gotham's "Caped Crusader" to resume his rooftop vigil, knowing full well the Gotham Police Department had their hands full processing those unlucky enough to fall into the grasp of the long arm of the law.

Gordon couldn't help but shake his head. To him, it seemed that the citizens of Gotham couldn't help but turn on every good thing given to them, as if they wished to punish those who sought to protect and help them. "It's their curse," he mused. "First the Wayne family, then Harvey Dent, and now Batman." If these people knew what their silent guardian had done for them that night at the rail yards, how he had sacrificed his reputation so that the scum of Gotham City would stay behind bars, either downtown or the secure wing at Arkham, they would fall at his feet in thanks for the disaster he had averted them. Instead, they chased him relentlessly, mouths frothing for justice as though rabid with their desire to see this masked man brought to justice. For Gordon, the worst part was having to explain to his son why the man who saved his life was being chased by an angry mob like Frankenstein's monster from the serials his own father had taken him to as a boy.

The Dent situation was another matter altogether. Up to this point, the press had refrained from asking questions as to the somewhat "strange" circumstances regarding Dent's activities on the final day of what was now being referred to as "Black Wednesday," but their curiousity wouldn't be quelled much longer. Too many had seen Dent with distinctive markings on his face, tearing around Gotham City with reputed mob bosses and dirty cops for the stories to be dismissed as rumor. No, the GPD had many more long nights ahead of them. "And that," Gordon thought to himself, "is why they pay me the big bucks"……….

Life at Wayne Manor had calmed considerably, what with several weeks now having gone by since the funerals of Rachel Dawes and Harvey Dent. It was, in fact, too calm for the tastes of Alfred Pennyworth. "Hardly any excitement around here these days." He mused, half out loud. "Only days filled with tennis and rock climbing and nights filled with paparazzi and encounters with those dreadful Hiltons."

Truth be told, Alfred was glad his employer was getting some time off. The Joker had pushed Bruce Wayne, and Batman, to the brink, physically and emotionally, and the past few weeks of rest and relaxation in the completed Wayne Manor were clearly having the desired effect on Master Wayne. Still, there was that matter of the Southeast corner. Many of the tools of Mr. Wayne's "nighttime hobby" were carefully catalogued and stored there, but they remained in the condition they had been rendered to during the weeklong standoff with the terrorist known only as "The Joker." That's how Dent had referred to him, that's what Master Wayne had called him, and since no better name existed for him, that's what the press ran with.

It wasn't getting easier for Bruce Wayne to be, well, Bruce Wayne. The young billionaire had grown so accustomed to leading his double life that by retiring his twilight persona, he had actually become more tightly wound than when he never got any sleep. Just last week he and any one of his stable of beautiful women he kept on speed dial had wrecked another expensive European sports car. Alfred wondered aloud if anyone else on the planet had ever owned a premium performance automobile of which the insurance payments were higher than the car payments themselves. Mr. Wayne always preferred cash, but the point remained. Although, if the representatives of Mr. Wayne's very exclusive car insurance company could see what Mr. Wayne was cooking up down in the basement, another totaled Ferrari would be the least of their concerns…..

Across town, at Arkham Asylum, Dr. Harleen Quinzel prepared for what would surely be the most trying set of psychological evaluations she had ever attempted. Praised far and wide for her largely successful efforts with the criminally insane, Quinzel had been personally selected by Mayor Garcia for this assignment. As she walked down the silent halls at Arkham, her high-heeled shoes echoing through the halls, outwardly her appearance remained the same as always; professional, unflappable, tough. On the inside, however, emotions flooded through her like the tumultuous storms that currently engulfed Gotham City. She had evaluated the best. After the famous incident in "the Narrows," she had delivered such a thorough breakdown on the nastiest and worst Gotham had to offer that she had received a commendation from the same mayor who called on her now. But never had she encountered a subject as compelling as this one. One who killed and maimed simply because he enjoyed it. In fact, the most blatant example of his alleged insanity came from a story told to her by reputed Mafia boss Sal Maroni, in which the man known only as the Joker burned over 100 million dollars in cash, only to prove the point that he wasn't in it for the money. What scared Dr. Quinzel the most wasn't that she would be in a room for hours at a time with this madman. No, what truly frightened her was the notion that deep down, she found the idea exhilarating. This would be her crowning achievement, the grand prize in a body of work that had separated her as the defining authority on the criminal mind in the free world. Maybe she'd even get a Nobel Prize for this……..


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

**Once again, I own nothing. **

**Another character in this chapter:**

Selina Kyle: Rachel Weisz

**Chapter 2**

Although the "Narrows disaster" was a scourge on the city of Gotham's history, not every citizen who called the Narrows home suffered because of it. In fact, Oswald C. Cobblepot, bar owner and semi-legitimate businessman, was raking in money hand over fist. As owner and proprietor of _The Iceberg Lounge_, the finest seafood restaurant and market in Gotham City, O.C. was respected, if not loved, in the Gotham business in community. However, O.C. Cobblepot had a secret. You see, in the seafood business, many ships from ports of call from all over the world visit you dock on a daily basis. And if one of those ships happened to be carrying, say, Russian- made AK-47's or Chinese artillery, who was Mr. Cobblepot to keep these wonderful toys from the hands of those willing to pay the most dearly for it? And if one of Gotham's finest happened to place a wager at his sports book, why wouldn't he then call that officer and ask for a favor in return for his debt being wiped away? You see, as a young man, O.C. had watched the movie _The Godfather _many times. He knew the power of favors and what the power of someone being willing to do anything to erase a debt could do for a small businessman in a city like Gotham. "Gotham is but one giant oyster," O.C. mused to himself, "and I am after but one pearl for myself." He smiled. His place was packed tonight. Packed with the high society of Gotham. Businessmen, Councilmen, Police officers, high-powered attorneys. These men knew where to come when they wanted the best shrimp cocktail or mahi-mahi in Gotham. They also knew what other treats awaited those who were willing to get deeper……

Selina Kyle was Gotham's answer to Katie Couric. Having seen, heard, and done it all, the hardened journalist was looking forward to her new assignment: Mike Engel's new broadcast partner on _Gotham Tonight. _Kyle had been one of the only journalists willing to cover the Joker killings at the street level, and had been rewarded by the network by becoming one of the faces of the most watched show in Gotham City. Her co-host, Mike Engel, seethed at the idea of giving up half of "his" airtime to anyone, but what really angered Engel in this case was that Kyle had been turning him down ever since she began working there.

Her first assignment was an in-depth interview with Gotham icon Bruce Wayne. In the wake of the death and destruction reaped upon Gotham City by the Joker, Wayne had given millions from his considerable fortune both to the city for its rebuilding efforts and to the families of those who had lost loved ones during the mayhem. Now, it had just been announced that Bruce Wayne was the principal owner of the newest Franchise in the AFPB, or American Federation of Professional Baseball. In what had to be considered a huge exclusive, Mr. Wayne would be announcing the name of the team live on her segment, an announcement that would undoubtedly move a huge ratings number for the show. "Let's see Engel top that," Kyle intimated, to no one in particular. She cheked her watch and swore under her breath. Mr. Wayne and his entourage were late, as per usual. Some things you could always count on………

It was a big night for the frequent patrons of the Iceberg Lounge. Casino night always drew the best and brightest Gotham had to offer. Gambling was technically illegal in the city limits of Gotham, but because a large percentage of the house take was being donated to the families of the victims of the Joker killings, everyone from the Mayor to several members of the city council had promised to attend what was surely the gala event of the season. For O.C. Cobblepot, that meant his operation, for one night, had to remain squeaky clean. Even now, his personal assistant, Rosa, was securing appearance commitments and donation pledges from all of Gotham's brightest stars. One name, however, remained at the top of the list Cobblepot now stared at in his hand. "Wayne, Bruce." Cobblepot's people had been trying for weeks to nail down an appearance from Gotham's favorite son, but to no avail. Even Police Commissioner Jim Gordon, while adamantly refusing to gamble, would be donating his time as a guest dealer at the high-stakes poker table. But no Wayne. It was just as well, Cobblepot observed. He definitely didn't need the media circus that Wayne would surely attract in front of his club. The press meant unwanted attention. Still, the extravaganza meant the club would build goodwill with the city, and those who would seek to shut down the illegal operations run out of the kitchen. It was, in fact, his kitchen in which the madman known as "the Joker" first proposed his plan for the domination of Gotham City. Cobblepot wanted to turn a profit at any cost, but had he known what horrors the Joker would go on to perpetrate upon Gotham City, he would have told Gotham's underworld to have their meetings elsewhere. Now, however, things were different. With the Joker, Carmine Falcone, and Sal Maroni locked up in prison, or the secure wing at Arkham, there was a power vacuum to be filled at the top of the criminal element in Gotham City. And this, Cobblepot reasoned, was where truly great men like him belonged……


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

**Insert normal disclaimer here. I own nothing.**

Dr. Quinzel wasn't used to failure. She'd encountered some hard cases before. She had become a legend for her sixty- hour examination of Dr. Crane not long after he was apprehended by Batman. Her depositions on Carmine Falcone and psychological evaluations on many of his thugs had been the cities' main evidence in the case against Gotham's largest crime syndicate. But judging by the hum of the flourescent lights overhead, the faint buzz of several flies circling the table, and the persistent thump of her subject's fingers against the harsh aluminum table, Dr. Quinzel wasn't getting anywhere.

"Name?"

He smiled. "Jack."

She glanced up at him over her glasses, clearly unamused. "Do you have a last name, Jack?"

"Jackson."

"Ok, Jack Jackson. Where are you from?"

Her patient sneered again. "Everywhere. Nowhere. Where should I be from? If I told you I was from Detroit, or, Chicago or Waxahachee, Mississippi, would that make anything I've done more or less criminal?"

If Dr. Quinzel was annoyed before, she was flat –out livid now. She felt like slamming this freak's disfigured face into the surface of the table, but she dared not disturb the subject while he was sedated.

"What is it about killing that excites you? That fulfills you?"

The subject's face turned from a cruel sneer into what could only be described as a genuine smile. Dr. Quinzel was more taken aback by this than anything she'd seen from him thus far.

"Killing….it isn't what excited me. Murdering all those people wasn't the plan." The man's voice grew slightly more excited, though the sedatives were clearly still doing their job. "What got me going, what really made what I did fun, was the chase. Knowing that no matter how many people I killed, how much stuff I stole, that he would be there."

"He?"

The patient smiled again. "The Batman."

Dr. Quinzel was flabbergasted. "You wanted to get caught?"

"It's not that I wanted to get caught. It's that I wanted to appear to get caught. See, true chaos only occurs when the establishment is maintaining the illusion of control. And you know when the establishment loses control? When that caped freak shows up. That's when all hell breaks loose. Because that's when the people you pay to protect you, Garcia, and Gordon, and all those other suits, are powerless to do the jobs that you trust them to do. That's chaos." His voice grew quieter, more sinister. "And I am an agent of chaos." His gaze leveled on the beautiful doctor. "Dr. Quinn;"

She interrupted him loudly. "Quinzel."

"So sorry. Dr. Quinzel. What do you think of chaos?"

She cleared her throat. "I don't believe in chaos. I believe in sane and insane behavior. I believe that mental conditions make normal people do irrational and inexplicable things." She stared at him now. "And I believe that you, _Jack Jackson, _are the craziest son of a bitch I've ever run across."

He returned her gaze, his icy features cutting a venomous hole into her eyes.

"I'm not crazy. I'm not." He chopped the "t" off with his teeth, adding emphasis to the final syllable.

"Then what are you?" Dr. Quinzel implored, clearly growing tired of the mind games.

"I already told you. I am chaos. I am the unknown factor. I am-"

Now it was Dr. Quinzel's turn to interrupt. "You are wasting my time." She gathered her belongings, clearly having lost her patience with the green-haired freak in the chair before her. "I'll come back when you're ready to take things a bit more seriously."

She turned and began to leave, and that's when he uttered the words that would rattle in her dreams for days afterwards.

"Why so serious?"

Gotham News Network was not a fun place to be during prime time. As many as five different news and current- event shows were being taped for broadcast later that night. For Selina Kyle, the hour was filled with both dread and overwhelming excitement for her guest. It wasn't because she harbored some secret unrequited feelings for the young billionaire. She smiled inwardly. She did have a schoolgirl crush on him, but so did every woman in Gotham, single or otherwise. What excited her was the fact that the _very _handsome tycoon would be making his announcement of what Gotham's first sports franchise would be called on her segment of the most-watched show in Gotham City. That's what made _her _want to kiss him, she thought. Although, being gorgeous didn't exactly detract from the list of reasons most women wanted to kiss him.

Her inner dialogue with the debonair Mr. Wayne was just getting interesting when her intern, Michelle, walked with the pace of one trying not to break into a sprint right there in the office to her cluttered desk.

"Ms. Kyle! He's here!"

"What?"

"Bruce Wayne. He and thirty of his closest friends are in the lobby and he said they should wait so they wouldn't make you nervous and they all laughed and got into their cars-"

Kyle let a small laugh escape. Michelle was far more excited about Mr. Wayne's arrival then she. Still, she felt her heart beginning to speed up as the anticipation of the arrival of "Gotham's favorite son" to her soundstage began to build. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the elevator door opened and the "Crown Prince of the Classic City" stepped through the receding double doors and walked casually through the eighteenth floor office of Gotham News Network.

His hair was already flawlessly styled, probably by someone with a funny European accent. His suit, tailored painstakingly by someone whose name Selina Kyle wouldn't dare attempt to pronounce, and his shoes had been selected to flawlessly compliment his suit. Even his tie, inky black with an exquisite pattern sewn into the fabric, radiated power and wealth from the man many considered the _real _most powerful man in Gotham City. And he, with his custom suit and power tie, was walking right into Kyle's soundstage.

"Bruce Wayne," he began, extending his hand towards Selina, lips curled into a cordial, if somewhat condescending, half-smile.

"I know who you are, Mr. Wayne. Selina Kyle." Her hand met his and she felt her cheeks immediately begin to go red. She fought with everything she had to maintain composure.

"You can call me Bruce. I'm sorry I'm late, I had a thing down at the new public library."

"I didn't know the city had a library in this area."

Bruce smiled again. "They didn't. I just paid for it. The Rachel Dawes Public Library will be open in December."

Kyle marveled inwardly at the casual nature with which Mr. Wayne discussed the handing over of millions of dollars to the city. "He really doesn't even notice that it's gone," she observed. It was, in fact, as though he had loaned a friend a hundred dollars for a bar tab.

"That's very generous, Mr. Wayne-"

"Please, Bruce."

"Ok. Bruce, let's go over the questions for the segment. I assume your people have briefed you on the topics we'll be covering?"

"They did. Something about baseball?"

Kyle felt a sense of panic wash over her. If this guy hadn't even been told he was buying a baseball team, she was going to have a serious talk with her prep team. Once again, the gorgeous billionaire interrupted her train of thought.

"Ms. Kyle, I'm kidding. I know exactly what I'm here to talk about……"

The interview went off without a hitch. Mr. Wayne, in his first interview since the Joker killings, came off as personable, funny, and even relatable during the twenty minute segment. It was the last segment, however, that caught the eyes of one particularly interested viewer.

"So, Mr. Wayne, on to the question we're all dying to know. What is the name we'll all be chanting this coming spring?"

This was Bruce's chance. He'd been waiting for his chance to say this for a long time.

"Well, with the tragic passing of our esteemed District Attorney, Harvey Dent, I've decided that a lasting homage must be paid to the man who made it his life's work to clean up the streets of Gotham. So, in the spirit of his nickname, 'the White Knight of Gotham', I've decided to name the team the Gotham Knights."

Kyle appeared confused. "The Knights?"

"Yeah. I only wish Harvey was here, so he could shake his head and tell me he was gonna kill me. Harvey hated that nickname."

Kyle couldn't resist probing a bit further. "So, it's the late DA, Harvey Dent, and not our absent guardian, Batman, that you're naming our team after?"

Wayne cursed on the inside. Every mention of Batman since the night he told Gordon to call in the Dent murders as Batman's crime made Wayne twinge with guilt on the inside. Still, he had a part to play, and he was learning to play it well.

"If that masked freak wants to come see a game, I'll leave him a pair of box seats at will call for all of them. I'll even buy him a hot dog and a beer. Afterwards, we'll go have a little chat with Commissioner Gordon. All kidding aside, I'm willing to do whatever it takes to bring that caped lunatic to justice. If he wants to think the team is named after him, then I guess he's entitled to. But this team is named the Knights to commemorate the real hero of Gotham City. My friend, Harvey Dent."

Kyle was in awe. "So this man does have convictions", she marveled internally. Then she remembered she had her sign-off to do.

"Thank you Mr. Wayne. And for all those watching, goodnight, and go Knights." With those last words, Bruce smiled cordially into the camera as millions of Gothamites hurriedly began planning their season-ticket purchases. In the studio, Selina turned back towards Bruce Wayne and gave him a tight smile.

"Mr. Wayne, thank you so much for being on my show. It means a lot." Inside, she was trying not to explode. She was going to get another raise for this.

"No problem. Listen, how would you like to make some news of your own?"

The question threw Selina off-balance. She'd heard innumerable stories of Mr. Wayne wining and dining the most beautiful women Gotham, and indeed the world, had to offer. "I'm not quite sure I like where this is headed." Wayne scoffed at her reaction.

"I didn't mean that. There's this benefit at the docks and none of my Russian ballerinas could make it on short notice, so I was wondering if I could persuade Gotham's most beautiful news reporter to accompany me. No pressure."

It was Selina's turn to scoff. Every time Bruce appeared in public with a woman under the age of fifty the newspapers all ran front-page columns about the "future Mrs. Wayne," usually with accompanying color photos. But he was the most beautiful man she'd ever laid eyes on. And being seen with Gotham's most eligible bachelor couldn't hurt her ratings, either.

"Well, could I go home and change first?"

Clearly, she didn't know who she was dealing with. "Sure. When you walk out of here, there's going to be a black Mercedes waiting at the curb. The driver's name is Stephen. Stephen will take you to your apartment and wait for you there. When you're ready to leave, just walk out and he'll be ready to take you to the benefit. When you get there, a young lady named Elicia will be there to meet you by the door. She'll be your assistant for the evening."

"I'll need an assistant?"

Wayne smiled. "You haven't been in Gotham long, have you?"

Thanks to all who have reviewed and alerted so far. I'll try to keep churning these bad boys out.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

**Once Again, I own nothing. Batman is property of DC Comics….lucky bastards.**

**Some New Characters:**

Jacob Hunter: Kyle Chandler

Kerry Copeland: Tony Todd

Eliza James: Debra Messing

And finally, in a bit of a cameo:

Becca Blue: Natasha Bedingfield

The Iceberg Lounge was bustling with excitement. Casino night had been successful beyond anything even Mr. Cobblepot could have imagined. Because of the cities collective desire to help as much as they could, and high society's even stronger desire to have a night with the glitz and glamour of before all this mess started, all the high-profile members of the city council, the Mayor, Commissioner Gordon AND several other police officers, even some A-list actors would be making appearances (and donations). And to top off the evening, Gotham's lily-voiced songstress, Becca Blue, would be singing on the main stage. O.C. looked over at his head of security. "Well, we're in good hands, anyway." Kerry Copeland was not a man to suffer foolishness, nor allow for much intrusion upon the proceedings by unwanted visitors. Earlier, there had been a spirited protest in front of the club by a group who thought a larger chunk of the proceedings should go to the victims of the Joker killings, and it took very little effort on Copeland's part to convince them it would be in their best interest to disperse immediately.

But tonight was different. No strong-arming was necessary. No coercion. Nothing but service with a smile, and if they happened to make some money for the kiddies, that was ok too. They'd probably need to build up some good karma, with what they had planned……..

Selina Kyle's mind was racing. This morning, she'd woken up and thought this would be an ordinary Thursday. She'd even planned a night in with a friend who lived two blocks over. Ice cream and girl movies. And now she was attending the most exclusive charity event this town had ever seen, with the most eligible bachelor in Gotham City. Her private Mercedes expertly navigated the crumbling streets of the narrows, giving her the impression that this entire event had been completely choreographed.

She looked like a million dollars. Even she knew that. What she wasn't ready for was for the car to come to a stop in front of an old building with an old-style marquis style reading CASINO NIGHT: BECCA BLUE: ONE NIGHT ONLY! And she definitely wasn't ready for the deluge of flashbulbs and questions being shouted out by reporters with little to do other than grill Gotham's beautiful people about who they were wearing and why it was they'd chosen to come out for this gala event. Stephen quickly opened his door, hastily went around the back of the vehicle, and opened the right rear door. She stepped out and was immediately bathed in light from both the marquis and the flashbulbs, and the flashes made the sequins on her black evening gown sparkle. She heard the buzz grow slightly louder as a young woman with light brown hair approached her. There was no hint of fear or hesitation as she walked towards the overwhelmed Kyle.

"Ms. Kyle?"

She smiled, grateful to see a friendly, if unfamiliar, face. "Yes, I'm Selina Kyle."

The young lady returned her smile. "I'm Elicia Bentley. I work for Wayne Enterprises, and I'll be your personal assistant this evening. Is there anything I can do for you?"

A million answers to that question echoed through the news reporter's fraying mind. "How 'bout getting me the hell out of here," was the thought that rang most prominently in her mind, but she pushed it aside.

"I could really use some water, and for Mr. Wayne to get here."

Elicia laughed politely. "I just spoke with Mr. Wayne. He apologizes for his tardiness, and he wants you to know he's very glad you decided to accompany him. He should be along directly."

Selina didn't understand how it was that a man who could coordinate her arrival to the exact second could so often be late himself.

"What, did he have to visit some orphans or something?"

There was no hint of humor in Elicia Bentley's voice. "Yes. He visits them at least once a week. Most of them had parents who were killed in the Joker killings. He either takes them toys, reads to them, or brings them gallons of ice cream."

"Good God," Selina thought to herself. "What doesn't this guy do." No sooner had the words crossed her mind when a mid-fifties Bentley pulled up to the curb. A driver, complete with hat, stepped out, opened his passenger door, and cleared room for Bruce Wayne.

If he'd been handsome before, he was almost godlike now. His tuxedo was classic. Black tie, black coat, black shoes. He reminded Selina of a movie star from the 1930's. It was then that she remembered that she was with him. "My friends will be so jealous," she told herself, smile creeping slowly across her face. Flashbulbs flickered like so many strobe lights, each documenting the one arrival that truly would make headlines. Wayne strode toward her, radiating vibrance and youth, and offered her his left arm. She clasped it, and two of the most famous singles in Gotham walked towards Casino Night together.

"You look amazing." Bruce whispered to her through the grin he had plastered on his face. She really did. In addition to her gorgeous black gown, she wore a black sheer shoulder wrap with matching shoes. Her hair was pulled up, but cascaded in rings and curls off the back of her head, giving her the look of any of the models and actresses Wayne was seen with any other night of the year.

The chemistry between them was intense, immediate, and unmistakable. Observers later claimed that you could see the exact moment when the two of them began falling for each other. The rushing crowd of people seemed to disappear as the two of them began their walk into the front door of the Iceberg Lounge.

A hush fell over the room as Wayne and his breathtaking new friend walked to the front door. An eight-piece jazz band was playing on stage, and even their volume seemed to decrease as Wayne began greeting those he knew in the room.

The first familiar face he saw was one of his closest friends. Jacob Hunter, the critically-acclaimed actor who'd recently been approached to play Wayne in an upcoming biopic, was here with a blonde Wayne vaguely recognized but couldn't place. His smile widened as Hunter approached.

"Jacob, how are you?"

It was Hunter's turn to smile. "Bruce, I'm outstanding. That flick about you got green-lighted. I don't know who the hell's going to want to see it, but I'm gonna make it anyway. Call it a labor of love."

Everyone involved in the conversation laughed. "I'm going to buy all the available tickets the first weekend," Wayne countered. "That way, when your pathetic acting drags it down, it'll still be a blockbuster here in Gotham." Bruce's smile betrayed his genuine affinity for Jacob. "If you'll excuse me, I have a lot more babies to kiss."

"Running for mayor?"

"No, I'm a simple billionaire." Both men laughed once more and shared another handshake before Bruce moved on.

"Oh, God," Selina heard Bruce mutter to himself as a very well- dressed woman with red hair and large sunglasses summoned him.

"Oh, Bruce," the woman called in a sing-songy voice as she sauntered over to him, her deliberate strides betraying the hint of slight intoxication. "Bruce, how are you, dear? And who is this delightful little minx?"

Bruce sighed. "Eliza, this is Selina Kyle. Selina, this is Eliza James, of the James Family Jewelry Wholesalers. Her parents were close with my parents."

"Don't lie to the poor girl, Brucie." She turned to Selina, who was increasingly both bemused and annoyed. "Brucie and I were involved," she intimated, her emphasis on the last word betraying how it was specifically that she and the now-mortified billionaire were involved. Wayne turned to Selina, now trying desperately to salvage some sort of dignity from the situation.

"We were involved," he began, "but we had to split up because of her propensity for getting liquored up and….keeping the company of other men." Bruce watched with quiet glee as the look on Eliza's face turned from the pure joy of watching Bruce squirm to tell her own embarrassment. Without any further comment, Eliza spun on her heels, sighed indignantly, and walked away with an exaggerated air of wealth and anger. Bruce looked down at Selina, smiled, and spoke:

"This high-society thing, it's not me. I mean, I guess technically I am high society, but this is what I have to do. Who I really am is, well, kinda complicated."

Selina grinned. "Try me."

Before Bruce could answer, a young man in a very nice suit took the stage as the lights went down. "And now, ladies and gentlemen, for your listening pleasure, Becca Blue!"

Gotham's most famous young songstress walked shyly onstage wearing a maroon evening gown, acknowledged the lingering applause, and nodded towards the piano player, signaling for him to begin. The piano player nodded and began playing a song familiar to everyone in the room. Bruce smiled as it occurred to him where he'd heard the song before. He started into a horrid Humphrey Bogart impression. "Play it again, Sam. Play 'As Time Goes By.'"

Selina rolled her eyes in mock frustration with Bruce. "Knock it off, Bogey." Bruce smiled, extended his hand to Selina, who stretched her own arm out with mock formality. The two joined hands, and began dancing slowly as the young _chanteuse _serenaded Gotham's high society……

It's truly amazing how one room can be hosting what would appear to be a harmless party, while in another room hosted the designs of a far more sinister development. O.C. Cobblepot had a plan. Some people saw the Joker killings and his subsequent imprisonment as a sign to Gotham's criminal underworld that the days of running amok and buying off whomever they needed to continue their free reign were over. O.C. saw a vacuum that needed to be filled.

To do this, Cobblepot called a meeting of the Gotham underworld. A veritable "who's-who" of Gotham crime syndicates gathered in the kitchen of the Iceberg Lounge, the same kitchen where a year earlier the Joker first divulged his master plane to an incredulous group of desperate mobsters. The last heavy-hitter to arrive was acting boss of the Falcone family, Sal Maroni. Maroni, still smarting from his run-in with Harvey Dent several weeks prior, wore a sling over his left shoulder for his arm and walked with a limp he would probably have the rest of his life. Maroni had become the most powerful man in Gotham City's legendary underworld, with the incapacitation of Carmine Falcone, and he knew many men were gunning for his power. What he didn't know was how far they'd end up going to take it………..

_I know this chapter ends abruptly, but I wanted to get it in before I lost all of you. _

_**Chaos- It is a bit of a repeat, but with this extra time to be Bruce Wayne, a love interest, especially one as fun to write as Selina Kyle, was something I couldn't resist. Thank you for the comment about the movie. I always want to write something that readers think could be realistic.**_

_**Erin- I struggled as to whether or not to bring Joker back. I think you'll like where this is going. Selina Kyle is very fun to write, and I think you'll like where it's going to go..**_


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

**As always, I own nothing. I didn't suddenly raise the hundreds of millions necessary to purchase the Batman rights. I suck…….**

It's a funny thing about a storm. A weatherman can warn you, lightning and thunder can precede its arrival, but until you're actually standing in the rain with your umbrella turned inside-out and your clothes soaked, it's just a show. For the citizens of Gotham City, no amount of forewarning or preparation would adequately protect them from the storm that was coming……

Commissioner Jim Gordon was thoroughly enjoying the evening's festivities. Several weeks before the event, he decided it would be a conflict of interest to partake in an activity that was technically illegal. However, because it was "all for charity", he decided it was a risk he could afford to take.

He had to be especially careful now. With Harvey Dent's untimely demise, a new D.A. had just been appointed. From all he had heard, Janice Porter didn't share Harvey's appreciation for honest cops and unbiased judiciary procedure. In fact, several sources told him that a bidding war amongst the finest in the Gotham criminal element had begun in earnest for her services. "So much for law & order," Gordon mused to himself as he waited for the six high-rollers at his table to finish the hand they were playing. He also wondered what kind of Mayor would knowingly place such a person in charge of prosecuting every criminal in Gotham City. "Maybe the chain of corruption goes up further than any of us thought," Gordon pondered as he dealt the next hand to those celebrities situated around his table. "Ante up, gentlemen." Jacob Hunter pushed in his cards, got up, and left the table. All the other assorted dignitaries followed him with her eyes, then shrugged, as if to say "more table for us," and returned to their game.

The men around the giant silver prep table were growing restless. The last time any of them had been here, the Joker had hit them with the plan that would end up being nearly all of their deaths. Even now, weeks later, the mere recollection of the first encounter Maroni had with the Joker made the hair on his neck stand up. He could still smell the potent mixture of sweat and gasoline he noticed as the Joker first walked into the room. His look into the past was interrupted by the swinging door being pushed open and several men, led by O.C. Cobblepot, walking loudly through it.

To look at Oswald Cobblepot, you wouldn't know he was a ruthless Gotham crime kingpin. He was short, pudgy, balding, and had a penchant for fancy tuxedoes. He also walked with a gait due to a childhood bout with polio. Due to his comical wobble, and his immense love for custom-tailored fineries, many who knew him referred to him (behind his back) as "the Penguin." He stopped at the head of the table, slammed his palms down onto the stainless steel surface, and began to speak:

"Gentlemen, I suppose you're wondering back here with the help, standing in the freezing air instead of enjoying the party." Laughs followed. "The last time there was a meeting here, a freak in makeup and a purple suit showed up to tell us why it was that we should pay him over 100 million dollars to kill the Batman. Batman sent his loony ass to Arkham!" Another laugh. "Why? Because that weirdo didn't have a plan." When he said that, Kerry Copeland, who had been standing behind him, unrolled several large sheets of architect's draft paper in front of the assembled. "Well boys, I have a plan. What the Joker _did _accomplish was to cripple the justice system here in Gotham. With that minx of ours taking over the D.A.'s office, and Mayor Candy-ass down there in city hall, I says it's time we reclaim that which was ours that was taken from us!"

One by one, these evil men nodded in agreement. One very important figure, however, remained unimpressed.

"And what says the Batman doesn't run us down like little kids on the schoolyard, same as the Joker?"

Cobblepot nodded thoughtfully, inferring with these actions that he understood Maroni's concern. "Sal, I hear ya. See, this Joker just wanted to rain down hellfire and destruction on Gotham City like some sort of fallen angel of anarchy." His gaze narrowed on Maroni, making him slightly uncomfortable. "That's an admirable goal. There's just one problem with destruction." His voice got quieter. "There's no money in it……."

Selina Kyle was having the time of her life. Having finished her dance with Bruce long ago, she now found herself playing poker (on Bruce's dime) at a poker table being dealt by the police Commissioner. "So this is high society," she thought to herself, watching Bruce cavalierly shove over 50,000 dollars in chips to the center of the table as though he were a child divvying up Halloween candy. He saw her watch him shove the chips in hastily. "It's for the kids, right?" He grinned. That damned smile that had gotten her into this mess in the first place. Even now, an hour into the soiree, he looked as immaculately beautiful as ever. He smiled at her, turned his cards over, and accepted his winnings as everyone else at the table groaned in mock agony as they watched the richest man in Gotham load up.

"It's my lucky night, boys," he crowed in his soft, breathy, almost raspy voice. "I mean, if we were gambling, it would be. But since gambling is forbidden within Gotham city limits, it's the kids' lucky night." He glanced up at the dealer. "Right, Commissioner?"

Jim Gordon fought hard to keep that familiar tight-lipped half smile from creeping across his face again. Then he spoke, his dry sense of humor betraying him;

"Ante up, boys."

Wayne snickered lightly, stood up, and turned to Selina.

"Not tonight, gentlemen. I have to be up early tomorrow. Board meeting at Wayne Enterprises."

Wayne extended his hand towards Commissioner Gordon, turned towards their open side, and smiled as cameras flashed frantically trying to capture a great picture of the police commissioner and the cities most prominent purveyor of parking tickets standing side by side, both looking somewhat uncomfortable. Wayne spoke again through clenched teeth;

"I'll be by your office this week. There's something I need to run by you…"

He clapped Gordon on the shoulder, then turned, took Selina's hand, and waved his other hand towards the spectators in the room. The sickeningly beautiful couple walked towards the front door, gossip and eyes following their every move………..


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

As always, I don't own anything. Even this computer…..

**New OC**:

**Dr. Mothesby: David Strathairn **

Dr. Harleen Quinzel was extremely late. After a fitful night of sleep, she had awakened to find her cat, Nibbles, neck-deep in the garbage can she'd knocked over in an attempt to devour the remains of last night's dinner. Her car had been backed into by what she could only figure to be a very large SUV, and now she was over half an hour late to meet her superior, head of psychology at Gotham University, Dr. Aaron Mothesby.

He had called this secret late-night meeting almost assuredly to discuss her first sessions with the man known only as the Joker. After turning in her first sets of findings, she had kept one dreading eye on her phone, waiting impatiently for the call to come from her supervisor to get her ass back in there and find out what was wrong with "that freak."

The truth was, Quinzel wasn't sure there was anything that _wasn't_ wrong with "The Joker." Not only was he both a sociopath and a homicidal maniac of the highest order, he appeared to have no real feelings or emotions about anything at all. Most people like him killed for the exhilaration, the unbridled, unfiltered joy of killing people. For the Joker, killing seemed to be a way to draw the Batman out. "It seems as though the Batman's presence almost calms the Joker the way it calms the rest of us." She wondered if he was now as unsettled as the rest of the city was growing with the absence of Batman.

For weeks, rumors had been swirling, slowly building to a crescendo that the Batman hadn't actually killed those people. Some claimed it was a conspiracy by Gotham's police department to discredit the masked vigilante and regain some control over their own department. Others claimed that Batman and Dent were in league, Dent double-crossed Batman, and Batman killed Dent, while still others had theories of everything from Batman being a visitor from another planet to him being that spandex-wearing freak over in Metropolis who was moonlighting. Quinzel scoffed. "A hundred freaks, a hundred theories. Some of them may need my help worse than the Joker."

Her inner musings were interrupted by the polite, yet poignant bell tone of the elevator, indicating that she was on the correct floor. "Who the hell puts a psychiatry office on the 16th floor?" Quinzel wondered inwardly. "Even if you weren't crazy before, you would be if you had to come up that elevator once a month."

She stepped out, took an immediate right and passed door after door until she found the doorway she was looking for. While there was no sign, a large "1640" crudely painted in black told her she had come to the correct place. "What the hell kind of doctor doesn't have a sign on his door? And what's going on up here so late at night?"

Her fears raged within her as she opened the large gray door. While the outside was nondescript, the inside was immaculate. Everything in and around the room reeked of immaculately planned order. She hadn't even had time to look around the whole room when Dr. Mothesby called her into his office. "Dr. Quinzel?" He called, as though addressing a patient. She smiled curtly, accepted his offered hand with her own, and walked purposefully into Mothesby's office.

"I hope the trip over here wasn't too much of an inconvenience," he began, clearly not sure what to think of Quinzel's demeanor.

"It wasn't too bad, doctor, but how about we skip the small talk? It's very late and I've got this rule about being in nuthouses after midnight."

Mothesby chuckled. "Well, then I won't keep you. Have a seat, please."

Both Quinzel and Mothesby sat down.

"I've gone over your first Joker briefing, and I found it very….interesting."

Quinzel raised an eyebrow. "Really, Doctor?"

"Yes. It's obvious to me that this man will never knowingly give you anything to work with while he's in Arkham. He's far too cunning, and we just don't know anything about him."

Quinzel cut in, infuriated by the notion of being outwitted by this psycho.

"Doctor, he's a psychotic. A very, very bright one, but a psychotic nonetheless. I've dealt with dozens just like him."

It was Mothesby's turn to cut in. "I'm sorry, Doctor, but no,you haven't. Evidence shows that this one man planted 100 cans of diesel fuel in Gotham General Hospital a full month before anyone else even knew about it. They only found out about it because one month later he blew up said hospital while the whole city was looking for a Tax Attorney. No, Ms. Quinzel, it's very apparent that none of us have ever dealt with a man such as this before."

"Then how am I supposed to figure out what it is that makes him this way?"

"You're going to observe him."

"I'm what?"

"Let me finish. In addition to your scheduled interviews, you'll be spending an additional amount of time observing the Joker in his cell at Arkham, until such time as you can provide adequate diagnoses."

Quinzel looked very annoyed. "Doctor, I can't spend all my time observing one patient."

"With all due respect, doctor, you can, and you will. The city has made this set of observations their number one priority, and everything else is to be put on hold until we figure our what makes this freak tick."

Quinzel stood, smoothed her skirt, and smiled tightly at Mothesby. "Fine, when do I start?"

"Tomorrow. 10 AM. First the interview, then observation."

"I'll be there…….."

The night had finally caught up with them. After midnight in Gotham was no fun place to be, and even in the company of policemen and billionaires, one had to wonder how long it would be until someone or something went wrong.

For Bruce Wayne, the idea was almost insulting. For it to be nighttime and for him to not be Batman was a prospect that he hated. However, the presence of one Ms. Kyle _had_ done a lot to ease that tension. As they went to leave, he felt a tap on his shoulder. Although he hated doing it with every fiber of his being, he turned towards the intruder with the same smile he'd given everyone all night.

"Mr. Wayne." Oswald Cobblepot began, with a similar smile on his own face. "I hope you found everything to your liking this evening."

Bruce maintained his smile. "This was my father's favorite seafood restaurant. He used to say that the people you'd see here was often as good as the shrimp cocktail."

Cobblepot laughed. "I'm glad to know your father loved my place so much." He motioned to his right. "This is my head of security, Kerry Copeland."

Wayne's eyes flashed with recognition. "Former light-heavyweight Champion. Silver medalist in '92 and '96."

Copeland's face betrayed no emotion. "Damn Koreans….."

Everyone privy to the conversation laughed as cameras again began flashing, capturing two of Gotham's finest and most successful businessmen leaned in for the photo- op. Casually, and with very little movement, Wayne hooked Selina Kyle's right hip with his left hand and pulled her into the last op the pictures. She rolled her eyes, brushed a stray hair out of her face, and smiled.

Moments later, with the picture done, Cobblepot began speaking again. "Mr. Wayne, I hear you're bringing us baseball to Gotham City."

"I am."

"So, who do I see about season tickets on the first base line?"

"Call my office tomorrow. We'll get you set up."

The two men headed their separate ways. Wayne opened the door of his very expensive automobile, allowed Ms. Kyle in, and climbed in himself. The car slowly pulled away, leaving the press without a word as to the nature of his relationship with the breathtaking news reporter.

Across town, several of Sal Maroni's men sat in a garage waiting for a shipment. A truckload of the finest narcotics South America had to offer. One, Jimmy Viti, stood just outside the door, gun leaned against the wall. "I wonder why Uncle Sal never brings his rich ass down here to oversee these?" But he knew the answer. Maroni had done his time on the docks and in garages, and now he got to sit back and get rich while mooks like him had to wait in the rain for brain-dead jerks to come delivering the goods Just then he heard a knock on the door. "Delivery," a clearly impatient voice could be heard saying from the other side of the door.

"Yeah, we got ya. Hold on." Viti signaled for one of his compatriots to open the door, and as the wooden door ascended two blinding headlights bathed the dingy room in white glow. Two more of Maroni's men walked around to the back. Just then, the man who had called at to Viti walked right up to him, pulled a .9mm handgun, and spoke again.

"Hey."

Just as Viti began to look up the other man pulled the trigger, painting the wall behind Viti a very unpleasant shade of red. At almost exactly the same time, the door on the back of the large truck opened and two more unnamed men jumped out and opened fire on Viti's men. Seconds later, having seen the carnage, the men jumped back in the truck, backed out of the garage, and sped away………..

**Sorry this took so long. Classes are starting back and it's been tough. Things are heating up, as you can see, and they will continue to.**

**As always, reviews are awesome and appreciated. Thanks to those who have reviewed/subscribed. You guys are the reason I'm still at this.**


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

**As always, DC comics owns Batman and any related property. I own a beat up Ford Ranger and a dream……**

**New OC:**

**Police Chief Edward O' Hara: Tommy Flanagan**

Bruce Wayne was awakened entirely too early by the unforgiving chirp of his alarm clock. He had often been used to these rude intrusions to his slumber whilst being out and about all night as Batman, but this was the first time in he didn't know how long that he had stayed out this late as Bruce Wayne.

He could still smell _her_ on him. From the time the Bentley had dropped her off right at the front door of her high-rise apartment building, until just now, he'd been unable to get her off his mind. There were so many things about her that he adored, and even though he'd only seen her the one time, they'd made plans for tonight, and he looked forward to seeing her again.

What was it about her that he found so appealing? She was beautiful, yes, but she was also smart, and those were wonderful things. But it was her fiercely independent demeanor, her toughness, without sacrificing her femininity, that Bruce had found most attractive. "Just like Rachel," he thought to himself as he began his morning regimen of pushups. This was turning into another special day in the Wayne house……

Across town, Jim Gordon was arriving at the most grisly crime scene he'd seen in weeks. Not since Batman disappeared had he been around carnage of this nature. Random muggings and murders continued, despite the hard work of Gotham's finest, but this was different. This appeared to be very carefully orchestrated. Not only were there no signs of forced entry, but on the surface, it seemed that there had been no struggle. Gordon stopped, turned, and again caught himself waiting for Batman to show up. "Old habits die hard," he observed quietly. Then something else caught his eye. He had surmised from a large collection of cigarette butts that one of their John Does had been leaning against the door to the outside just before he'd been dispatched, but a single, alternately-branded butt caught his attention. "Murphill." Gordon observed. "That's a European brand. They don't sell these here." Gordon only knew this because of the weeklong vacation in London he'd taken his family on the year before.

Lately, any mention of Jim Gordon's family brought a slight twinge to his chest. Ever since the night he'd faked his own death, his wife had seemed a bit distant. It was as though he'd never fully come back to life in her eyes. The kids were ok, but she never quite looked at him the same. Add to that the extremely late hours he'd been putting in as the cities' newly appointed Police Commissioner, and well, it hadn't been a banner month at the Gordon house.

Then there was the Batman search. Once a running joke amongst Gotham police, the search had become a twenty-four-seven job. The manhunt continued, even now, for Gotham's private vigilante, but Gordon knew they'd never find him. Not unless the sudden urge to be caught overcame Batman. Gordon smiled. Did he miss Gotham's silent marauder? He missed the way criminals fell into his lap while Batman was on the job, that's for sure. But for a man who had very few people he could really trust, losing even one was devastating.

Ed O'Hara was one of those men. Before Gordon's move to Gotham City from Chicago, O'Hara had been his partner. Now, with Gordon, calling the shots, one of his first moves had been to call on his longtime associate for backup, naming him to the newly-created post of Police Chief. O'Hara's job would be to act as sort of a "team captain" for the ever more thinly stretched police forces in Gotham. It was good to have someone he could trust on the force.

"Ed, come take a look at this."

Ed O'Hara was a man who'd seen everything. After better than a decade on Chicago's famed homicide unit, O'Hara relocated to Gotham at the personal request of Commissioner Gordon. After the Joker killings, Gordon was taking zero chances with the cops here in Gotham. Too many people had been killed as a result of police corruption for him to ever fully trust the cops in Gotham again. O'Hara, himself smoking, crouched next to Gordon and began spreading the butts with his fingers.

"All these others, they're regular. Can find 'em at any service station or convenience store in the area. These, though, you gotta have shipped here."

Gordon smiled tightly. "That's our angle, then. Find out if anyone with mob ties is having Murphill unfiltered shipped here from London. Anything on the security cameras?"

O' Hara shook his head. "May as well a' had 'em pointed over the toilet, sir."

Gordon nodded. "Well, somebody saw something. This wasn't a random shooting. No valuables missing, no sign of forced entry. These men knew the men that shot them, and were expecting them to be here. This has all the makings of a mob hit."

As Gordon and O'Hara continued their discussion involving the crime, a third officer, clearly frazzled by some piece of information he was carrying in a manila folder in his hand.

"Commissioner," he began, clearly shaken. "We got a positive on that third John Doe."

"Well, you gonna make me guess?"

"Jimmy Viti."

"THE Jimmy Viti?" Gordon asked, clearly piecing together what this meantr for Gotham in his mind. "What would the button man for Sal Maroni be doing here?"

It was O'Hara's turn to speak now. "I hear there's a lot of narcotics trafficking through this party o' town. Probably a deal gone bad."

Gordon slowly shook his head. "I don't doubt that narcotics get run through here, but Jimmy Viti's a 'made' guy. Killing him could only be ordered by Uncle Sal or someone declaring war on the Falcone family."

"Whaddaya think, Jim? Was it Uncle Sally getting' rid a' his dear nephew, then?"

"No, Ed. Sal's big on loyalty. Jimmy was the guy who figured out it was the Greco's who firebombed his car. This isn't gonna make Maroni too happy."

Bruce Wayne hated press conferences. Ever since he was a child, he'd been the focus of too many reporters with cameras who had nothing better to do than follow his every move. Lately, however, these conferences grew even more painful with the reminder of Harvey Dent's bold actions the day Rachel was killed. At least today, Lucius was content to do most of the talking.

Wayne Enterprises' big announcement had to do with WayneTech expanding into its own company. By doing this, the ycould run the company as a private entity, saving themselves the trouble of nosy accountants and prying interns alike. By saying that they did this to, as Lucius so eloquently put it, "insure the utmost efficiency and privacy for all parties involved," they would never again face the prospect of anyone at Wayne Enterprises figuring out where Batman's equipment would be coming from.

As the conference was coming to a close, Bruce's mind drifted to Selina. They'd made plans to have dinner at her apartment that evening, and Bruce grew ever more restless as the hours grew closer. He'd never looked forward to seeing a girl that wasn't Rachel before. To him, dating had been just another way to cast an illusion towards the public eye that he was living the life of a single billionaire. With Selena, though he barely knew her, he felt as though his very being was being drawn towards her companionship. She made him feel as though he could let his guard down, and he didn't like it. His instincts always told him not to let anyone too close, but he reasoned with himself that were he no longer going to be Batman, it'd be fine if he decided to begin a relationship. He forced himself to perk up as the press conference came to a close. In his left hand he held a folder that contained the blueprints for what he wanted to create next. "This'll keep GPD busy for a while," he mused inwardly. As his daydreams faded slowly, his eyes focused in on Lucius Fox walking towards him. He stood and offered his hand to his old friend.

"I think that went well, Lucius."

Lucius chuckled. "You don't even know what it is we announced."

Bruce smiled, the same half-condescending smile that drove the women of Gotham crazy. "Something about WayneTech."

Lucius laughed again. "And how long are we going to be playing dumb, Mr. Wayne?"

"Who said anything about playing?"

Lucius smiled again, then noticed the schematic Bruce held in his left hand.

"What's this, Mr. Wayne?"

"I need a car."

"I suggest you talk to my friend Antonio at Gotham Exotic Motors."

"Bruce smiled politely, acknowledging Lucius' joke. "No. This one has some….custom work I need done. Some of that silent motor technology we've been developing. Maybe that lightweight titanium alloy we've been working up for the Urban Assault Division."

Fox nodded. "We'll take a look at it right away."

"Thank you."

Way across town Sal Maroni was getting the news that his nephew, Jimmy Viti, had been murdered. Killings were to be expected in his nephew's highly dangerous line of work, but the ambiguous and mysterious nature of the killings is what puzzled Maroni. Normally when someone whacked one of his guys, they did everything short of taking an add out in the _Times_ to let him know who it was. It was a challenge to him. This was a very different storm that was brewing, and Maroni knew who he had to call to get to the bottom of this…….


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

**New Character: **

Aaron Dalrymple: Chi McBride

Johnny Viti: Gabriel Macht

Harleen Quinzel's patience was wearing very thin. In the dingy guard's office and video room at Arkham Asylum, she'd been forced to sit in a horribly uncomfortable chair and watch surveillance tape after surveillance tape of Gotham's personal demon as he went about his life incarcerated in the maximum security wing at Arkham. Going over his dossier, she'd found that while he was often verbally abusive to guards and other inmates, he'd done nothing but exemplify the term "model prisoner" during his time at Arkham. In fact, even as she watched his every move, he was sitting quietly, legs bent at the knee and clutched into his chest, reading in the library.

She wasn't aware he'd even been given library privileges. Her first instinct was to run screaming to the Arkham director that he'd been given permission to leave his cell, even under armed guard, but she knew that legislation passed in the state house three years ago gave every prisoner that wanted it free access to educational materials of "any reasonable variety." Currently, he had his nose buried in a rather impressive-looking book of which the title Dr. Quinzel couldn't make out. As she turned to leave for her weekly interview with him, a large man wlaked into the control room and extended his right hand.

"Aaron Dalrymple, head of security here at Arkham."

"Dr. Harleen Quinzel. What happened to Officer Schmit," she asked, inquiring about the old head of security at the infamous "place of refuge" for Gotham's mentally disturbed.

"He was a casualty of the latest round of….inquiries from internal affairs."

Quinzel nodded her head. "Dent?"

"It sure was. I understand you're here to look at our boy Mr. Joker."

"I am."

"Well, he's a wily one. Pushes the other inmates to the point of harming him, but then he eases up. It's as though he's testing all of them. Eats his meals alone. Reads alone. Everything he does but walking to and from the yard is alone. It's as though he thinks himself above these common nutcases. "

"Officer Dalrymple, he is. Far above. I'm going to go interview him. Is that ok?"

"Sure, I'll have two guards at the door."

"Thank you."

Quinzel strode down the iron mesh stairs to a chorus of catcalls from all those who could see her. Her subject, however, appeared engrossed in whatever it was he was filling his demented head with. He looked up, slowly, and smirked arrogantly at the woman attempting to probe the inner workings of his mind. Truth be told, not even he was sure what was going on in there.

"Mr. Jackson," she began, sarcastically referring to the obviously fake name he'd given her on their last visit.

"Dr. Quinn….." he began, trailing off the last syllable. "Have you come to ask me more….questions?"

""I just came to talk."

His gaze narrowed, his pupils turning their focus solely on her. "Talk, then. I don't have anything to say to you, doc."

She smiled, clearly nervous. "What are you reading?"

"_Paradise Lost_. You know, it's the one about God and the devil and Lucifer getting kicked out of heaven-"

"I'm familiar with the book. Do you like it?"

He looked at her, his eyes telling her that she wasn't going to get any more insight than he allowed her.

"I like it. I like the part where Lucifer looks asks himself why he isn't the one getting the worship and respect. Really sends a message, if you know what I'm saying?"

"I'm not sure that I do."

"He gets one out of every three angels in heaven to believe that _he_, and not this God they've seen with their own two eyes, is the one they should be worshiping. That's influence. That's sending a message."

"You've said that a lot. What message do you want to send?"

"Oh, I've sent it already. But the next time…people will know. "

"What will they know, Jack?"

"If I told you that, doc-TOR," he said, exaggerating the second syllable, "it would ruin the surprise."

.Dr. Quinzel did her best not to shudder. She composed herself inwardly.

"Next time?"

The Joker licked his lips involuntarily, clearly enjoying watching the beautiful young doctor squirm. "Oh, there will be a next time. The Bats and I have too much fun to stop now."

Quinzel was stumped. She had no idea what to say to this madman, this angel of death who now stared at her menacingly, as though he was going to send his message directly through her.

"Do I make you uncomfortable, doctor?"

"You're insane. I work with the mentally ill."

"I'm NOT crazy. I'm just…..highly motivated."

"Well, how do you explain what happened to Rachel Dawes and Harvey Dent? Killing those two was clearly not the act of simply a 'highly motivated' person."

The Joker looked genuinely interested by this line of questioning. "Harvey Dent . Har V. Dent," he repeated, exaggerating all the syllables. "It's funny you should ask. But why don't you ask him?"

Once again, Joker's answer baffled Quinzel. "How can I ask him? Dent is buried in Gotham Memorial Cemetary."

"No he isn't."

"What?"

"Harvey Dent is in the room next to mine, doctor………….."

**I really wanted an update. This college schedule is killing me. I'll keep chugging along.**


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

**Before I get started, I wanted to say thanks to all of you who made Friday a record day for visitors and hits. Keep it up, and tell your friends.**

**As always, I own nothing. Even my undies are rented……..**

Sal Maroni was widely regarded as a pretty good guy. Despite his reputed ties with organized crime, his widely feared and respected vengeful streak, and a history of violent behavior, he also spent time and money on charities, was known to pay the bills for an entire restaurant, and once gave a thousand dollar tip for breakfast because he quote "liked the kid's nerve."

Today, however, Sal Maroni was not a pleasant man to be around. The news of his favorite nephew's death, coupled with a phone call he'd gotten from his lawyer regarding his possible indictment stemming from charges of racketeering and conspiracy to commit murder, had combined to put the hotel owner and alleged mafia kingpin in quite a foul mood.

Johnny Viti was used to seeing his uncle this way. During the "old days," as his uncle now referred to them, frequent violence between rival gangs often resulted in severe loss of life on both sides. That was considered the drawback to living the lifestyles they lead. But he'd never seen moved as deeply as he was today. Johnny's father, Ronaldo Viti, had been part of a crew with Sal Maroni in the old days. They'd come up together as "button men" for the Falcone Family, earning respect and cash at an equally high rate. Word of their exploits traveled as far as Star City, and the two became legendary figures in Gotham. Then, not long after a job that had seen both Maroni and Viti become millionaires, Johnny's dad passed away under very mysterious circumstances when his limousine coming home from the airport exploded rolling down Interstate 313 towards the outskirts of Gotham. Since that day, Johnny Viti had committed his life to acquiring a fortune, and then using that money to square his father's death. But for now, he reminded himself, it was his lot in life to follow his uncle's orders.

"Johnny," Uncle Sal began, "this wasn't just a murder. Somebody in this town wants me to know they're coming for me."

"What do you want me to do, uncle?"

Maroni began pacing back and forth behind his desk, "Set up a meeting. Cobblepot, Garzo, anyone who might have designs on what we've built. I will get to the bottom of who murdered your brother."

"I'll do it, uncle."

Maroni nodded his acknowledgement, and Viti turned and left. As he left the room, his cell phone rang. Viti answered quickly, before his uncle heard it.

"Yeah." He answered. "He wants to meet Cobblepot. We can, can't we………."

Bruce Wayne had met foreign dignitaries, CEO's, every sort of V.I.P. you can imagine. Nothing, however, had ever given him butterflies like this woman. It wasn't going to be easy, with the constant eye of the public on him. Even now, as he stood in front of his giant mirror, he could feel the mixture of anticipation and unfamiliarity overcome him as he got ready.

Ms. Kyle had called it a "second date." Bruce hadn't been on one of those in a while. The European women he was frequently spotted with weren't interested in relationships. They merely wanted to be seen and photographed with the handsome young billionaire. This was different. Selina seemed like she genuinely enjoyed being around him.

Bruce's inner monologue was interrupted by his butler, Alfred Pennyworth, coming into his room with a copy of the evening paper in his hand.

"Congratulations, sir," Alfred said, his tone betraying his dry sarcasm.

"For what, Alfred?"

"Well, sir, it appears that between your relationship with Ms. Kyle, the new division of Wayne Enterprise, the baseball team, and your generously agreeing to fund the new library, you've made every section of the paper."

Wayne chuckled. "Really?"

Alfred flopped the paper down onto the bed. "Certainly, sir." He walked over to Mr. Wayne, took a look at him, and helped him straighten his collar. "You look great, sir. And Ms. Kyle is exactly the kind of woman your mother would've wanted for you."

Wayne sighed. "What am I doing, Alfred?"

Alfred looked confused. "I believe you're having pasta, cooked for you by a beautiful young woman."

"Not that. Why am I wasting time as Bruce Wayne when crime is on the rise, the city is beginning to eat itself again. Yet here I am, going on dates and building baseball stadiums."

"I'm not quite sure I follow, sir."

"Why have I abandoned Batman?"

"Because Batman is Gotham's most wanted criminal, sir."

"It doesn't matter. I made a promise to protect these people that they'd never again worry about their safety. Look at the front page of this paper. Mob shootings, muggings, street crime at a year-long high. All because the street trash and kingpins in this town know that Batman is the only man more wanted than them."

Alfred sighed. "You remember that story I told you about the jewel thief in Burma?"

Wayne nodded.

"Well, not long after we burned the forest down, the medicine men and chiefs of the tribes who called that forest home got their men together and ran us out of their territory. Even though we offered them protection from their enemies that no one else could, they were so mad at us that they decided they'd take their chances without us."

Wayne squinted curiously at Alfred. "So, what'd you do?"

"We left. And three weeks later the tribe was overrun by invaders. The same chiefs who wanted us out begged us to come back." He stopped briefly. "But we didn't. For a month solid we watched the invaders pillage their towns and did nothing."

"Why?"

Alfred sighed again, sadly. "I'll never know whether or not we made the right decision, but eventually we did go back and help them rebuild."

With that, the wisened butler began walking away. Wayne, still confused, called out.

"Why, Alfred. Why let those people go through that?"

Alfred gave him that all-too-familiar sad smile. "Sometimes, sir, people must be plunged into the darkness, before they know how badly they need the light"…………..


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

**I don't own Batman or any of these characters.**

**New Character(s):**

**Solomon Grundy: **Abe Benrubi

**David Ackerman: **Terry O'Quinn

The evening had been an amazing one. Selina had been cooking like a madwoman when Bruce Wayne arrived at her small but very nice studio apartment. Square footage in thie part of Gotham was at a premium, and she'd done quite well for herself to find a place this nice on the top floor. When he'd walked through the front door, casual but still dapper in a grey sweater with white dress shirt and new khakis, she'd wanted to jump his bones. Instead, she told him to make himself comfortable, handed him a glass of wine, and told him dinner would be ready soon. He looked around, his curious, somewhat paranoid nature getting the better of him. He'd walked down the hall, careful not to disturb any of the décor, and found only an immaculately cleaned bathroom and a closet for her washer/dryer combination. Her bed, made entirely in white, was separated from the main room by a double-sided bookshelf, filled with Tolstoy, Whitman, and other names Wayne vaguely remembered from his private school days. He'd checked out the balcony and had been very impressed by the breathtaking view of Gotham's financial district that came with her apartment. She'd come out just then, wrapped both her arms around his left arm, and told him dinner was ready.

"You see anything familiar?" She asked, playfully.

"Bruce pointed to the top floor of Wayne Tower. "Yeah, there's my office."

She punched him playfully on the arm. "You can shut up! Not all of us can work in a skyscraper doing….whatever the hell it is you do."

Bruce was enjoying this. "Flirt with receptionists and sleep through meetings, mostly. My CEO, Lucius Fox, does the hard work. I just make appearances and spend money."

Selina elbowed him in the ribs. "Flirt with receptionists, eh? Do they cook you dinner?"

Bruce got an even more mischievous grin on his face. "Breakfast, usually."

She rolled her eyes in mock anger. "Well, no chicken parmagian for Mr. Wayne, then."

Bruce's eyes widened slightly. "That's my favorite."

She smiled and tilted her head, looking up towards him. "Well, then, I'm glad I chose that to make." With that, she took his hand and led him inside to the dinner table.

The table was set simply but elegantly, with two places and a candle waiting for them. Selina opened the oven door, pulled out a large dish that smelled unbelievable, and set it down between the two of them. She then set the wine bottle down next it, and set several side dishes down as well. Bruce then reached over, pulled her seat down, and dug in.

The food was delicious. Roasted squash and asparagus, Caesar salad, and bread, along with lots of red wine, far surpassed anything Bruce had expected from this remarkable woman. He helped her clear the table and store the leftovers, and he did the dishes while she prepared a plate for him to take, and one for Alfred. She looked over at him and marveled. "Well, look at that, the richest man in Gotham washing my dishes!"

Wayne chuckled. "Yeah, they didn't cover this at debutante training school." Selina laughed heartily. She spoke up again. "Now, I've got two movies tonight. I have a Meg Ryan and-"

Bruce interrupted her. "The other one. I ABHOR Meg Ryan." Selina chuckled.

"Ok, Mr. Big Shot, _The Maltese Falcon _it is."

Bruce perked up. "You got a Bogey and asked me if I wanted something else?"

"So, our billionaire likes Bogart," Selina mused quietly to herself. "Would you like popcorn?" She asked.

"I'm stuffed."

She smiled. "I'm glad. Anything to drink?"

"Just water."

She smiled and nodded, and hurriedly ducked into her kitchenette. She returned just as the movie was starting with a glass of water for Bruce and another glass of wine for herself. She sat on her couch and snuggled up next to Bruce. He smiled, and extended his arm over Selina's shoulder. She leaned into him even further, and then they became engrossed in Bogey and each other……..

The library at Arkham asylum would have been almost amusing to watch, if one could forget that the occupants were all to a man psychotic felons. The Joker, chained to his chair by both legs, read another thick book, all the while involuntarily both licking his lips and silently mouthing the words he was reading. Across the room, Dr. Jonathan Crane pored over a scholarly journal of a topic that escaped everyone in the room, while in the center of the room Solomon Grundy, Arkham's resident man-child, read enthusiastically from a comic book brought for him from a sympathetic guard.

Grundy was one of Gotham's lost souls. Once a promising young cadet at the Gotham Police Academy, a mishap with some of Dr. Crane's fear toxin had left him with a childlike frame of mind. His physical strength, however, had only grown since his institutionalization. At first he didn't notice the tiny pieces of paper hitting the colorful pages of his book. Then, when he saw the Joker was throwing the paper from the edges of his book pages at him, he turned his face towards him slowly and said "stop it." His words trailed off, as though by a small child. The Joker licked his lips, twitched, and smirked at the giant.

"What's your name, Gigantor?"

The huge man exhaled deeply through his nose. "So-lo-mon."

The Joker nodded in mock understanding. "Well, Gigantor, it's nice to meet you. I think we can be friends."

Grundy exhaled deeply again, looked around, and spoke again. "Ok."

Another voice chimed in from across the room. "Solomon here is a fascinating case. When I dosed him with fear toxin, I gave him an extra dose, trying to account for his size, but as it turns out, it wasn't necessary." With that, Grundy gazed at the voice angrily. It was Joker's turn to speak: He sneered at Dr. Crane, subconsciously licked his lips, and breathed in hard.

"You're that doctor. The one who got his eggs all…..scrambled."

Crane looked confused. "I don't like scrambled eggs."

Solomon chimed in. "I like eggs."

The Joker looked mildly amused. "No, you're the guy who invented that toxin. The one that sent the Narrows all to hell. Caused all that panic."

Dr. Crane smiled, glad to have his work acknowledged. "I did. Would've gotten the whole city if it weren't for the Batman."

The Joker looked at him, then Solomon, who was once again engrossed in his comic book.

"Yeah. I have a feeling the three of us are gonna be great friends….."


	11. Announcement

Hey guys-

My hard drive is shot on my computer. Perhaps irrevocably so.I must take a shortleave of absence. But don't worry! I'll be back soon. And Minerva's Cat, the next chapter is all about Gordon!


	12. Chapter 11

Chapter 11-

**This is the last one before my short break. I was sitting here in the computer lab at school with not much to do and I have a couple of hours so I though "why not?"**

**New Character:**

**Janice Porter: **Sara Ramirez (From TV's _Grey's Anatomy_)

Jim Gordon had never before regretted becoming a police officer. From the time he'd first earned notoriety as the lead on an investigation involving several high-ranking city officials and their alleged ties to racketeering and the mob, to his meteoric rise to the top of the Gotham Major Crimes Unit, Gordon had become what every young cop aspires to be. Perhaps this was why his current meeting with newly-appointed DA Janice Porter was making him so sick to his stomach. He'd just been given Gotham's "Key to the City" because of his valor and leadership during the Joker killings, and now he had to answer questions posed to him by this woman of questionable morality, both personally and professionally, when he was supposed to be at the children's choir performance his own two kids were singing in. Instead, he was locked in a debate with this vile woman, going over and over the validity of the arrests made by men who were brought in by Batman.

Still, she was attractive, and she knew it. Ever since her appointment, she'd flaunted around the DA's office and city hall as though she knew she was Gotham's most fashionable career woman. Some speculated that all that flaunting may have been what got her the job in the first place. Rumors ran rampant as to the nature of her relationship with Mayor Garcia, amongst others, and she seemed to spend as much time trying to make the front page of the Gotham Times as do any legal work. Now, however, she had the Commissioner in her crosshairs.

"Jim, I have just a few questions about the nature of your department's relationship with the one they call 'the Batman.'"

Gordon cringed mildly. "Official policy is to arrest the vigilante known as the Batman on sight."

"I've heard. I've also heard you've spent more time ordering Chinese for lunch than you have figuring out who this madman is. And this even after he killed Harvey Dent in cold blood."

Gordon cursed inwardly. "This woman has no idea," he though to himself, angrily. "I was there. Harvey Dent had become a menace."

Outwardly, his reaction was different. "We're doing what we can. The Batman appears to have an identity beyond just that of a masked vigilante. There are twenty million people in this city. I have exactly three police officers I trust enough to carry out a routine traffic stop, much less pursue the man who killed the District Attorney. Besides, my sources tell me it's been weeks since anyone's seen the Batman. "

Porter leaned over his desk, both to emphasize the importance of her next question and, perhaps, to give him a look at what was under the off-white blouse she wore under her navy skirt-suit.

"Just one more question, Commissioner."

Gordon smiled, wryly. "Fire away, counselor."

"I've heard rumors that the 'Batman killing Dent' story was all a cover-up."

"I've heard those, too. But I always thought Dent WAS Batman, so I guess that would make it tough."

Porter smiled, but no goodwill was betrayed on her face. "You understand that by denying any sort of cover-up by the Police Department, you subject yourself to perjury charges if your statement is contradicted later by the facts."

Gordon felt his stomach tighten slightly. He had zero interest in telling this tramp who he was keeping hidden in the secure wing at Arkham, but that was rivaled by his intense desire to not go to prison. He began to speak. "Ms. Porter, let me assure you that Harvey Dent is dead. I watched Batman kill him. You need to spend less time reading the gossip pages…….."

Across town, Oswald Cobblepot and his team of several hired thugs waited anxiously for their esteemed guest. Cobblepot turned and looked at the half-dozen or so men standing around and behind him, all the while positioned strategically around the limousine that had carried them all down here. He turned to his director of security. "What time did he say?"

Copeland looked down at him. "He'll be here." Mere seconds after the words left his lips, a second limo, this one silver, turned the corner and coasted slowly towards the group of mobsters. As the limo slowed to a stop, the left passenger door opened and Johnny Viti, flanked by a hulking bodyguard of his own, appeared from the car and rushed up to Cobblepot and Copeland.

"Who picked this meeting spot," Viti began, his breath freezing lightly on the thin, cold, late fall Gotham air.

Cobblepot laughed. "This parking garage was built by people I trust."

Viti shook his head. "Well, it's hard to find. Uncle Sal wants to meet with you."

Cobblepot nodded. "He does, eh? Could it be about your brother being killed?"

Viti signaled his agreement. "That's it."

"And how are you feeling about his untimely demise?"

"I loved him. He was my brother. But he was a moron, and business is better without him. I'm a businessman."

Cobblepot smiled, nodded, and motioned for him to take a seat inside his limo.

"That's what I love about you, kid….."


	13. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

Sal Maroni was quite sure something was up. Johnny acted very strangely on the phone, claiming he was in Metropolis and would have to meet Maroni at the meeting with Cobblepot, and that he'd be arriving separately from his crew. In addition, one of Maroni's anonymous sources had placed Johnny Viti and Cobblepot together at the parking deck off of 3rd Street and Nichols last night. As a result, Maroni told the small cadre of armed men with him to keep a sharp eye as they drove towards a likely war zone.

Harleen Quinzel still wasn't happy. Her last meeting with her boss hadn't gone well, and she was almost fresh out of ideas. The Joker had her completely perplexed. He clearly wasn't a normal, sane person, but she wasn't sure she would label him as insane, either. The Joker, she'd deduced, was something she wasn't sure she'd ever seen before. He was some sort of super-psychotic, one day acting like a simple mischievous clown, and the next murdering by the hundred. It's as though his psyche was re-inventing itself daily.

Her boss had been particularly unforgiving. Dr. Mothesby hadn't particularly cared that she wasn't getting any sleep, nor had he shown any sort of remorse for working her for all of these long hours. He'd simply told her that it was her job, and to be glad he'd trusted her with an assignment of this importance. Truth be told, she was. The Joker's was the most perfect criminal mind she'd ever been around, and the chance to probe it was something she'd always be grateful for. She caught herself in the middle of that thought. Was she empathizing with this monster? Did she see something in him, even admire him? The thought terrified her. She couldn't see anything in him, could she? He was a monster, ruthless and evil. She was a very respected psychologist. Quinzel quickly pushed the thought out of her head….

Selina Kyle knew she was in for a long day. Her boss, David Ackerman, had been riding her nonstop about the lagging quality of her work since she'd begin to see Bruce Wayne. She didn't care. Bruce had begun to consume her. She'd never felt an attraction as immediate or complete as what she felt for him. Many of her friends had begun to give her a hard time about it, telling her she was only into him for his money, or because she wanted to be the woman to tie down the ever-elusive billionaire, but she knew the truth. Bruce Wayne stirred something inside her that no other man ever had. Even as she stood in Ackerman's office being chewed out, her thought gravitated towards him.

"…and another thing! You're two weeks late with your exclusive on Johnny Viti. This man was just voted _The Gotham Daily's_ Up- and- Comer for this year, and we don't have anything on him! Engel would kill everyone in this office for that assignment! You want me to give it to him?"

Kyle exhaled deeply. "I'll take care of it. I have an interview scheduled for tomorrow."

"Good. Make sure it's ready for Monday's broadcast."

As he toured the ever-expanding grounds of the stadium that would be ready for the spring, Bruce Wayne tried his very best to take in most of what the project foreman was saying. A balding, rotund man in his mid-fifties, one could easily tell that this was by far the biggest project he'd ever worked on. As he and Lucius toured one of what would eventually be over twenty luxury boxes, Bruce found his mind wandering to what Lucius was working on. Ever one to dodge the answering of a direct question, Lucius had told him very little about the secret project they were working on at WayneTech, telling him only that he would "be amazed." As the anticipation grew, Wayne smiled wryly at how damn long this day was taking.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

As soon as Jim Gordon got word from his unidentifiable, reliable source that Sal Maroni was driving to the corner of Eleventh and Phelps to meet with other organizational criminals, he knew something was up. His first call was to Chief O'Hara, telling him to have a SWAT unit standing by to move in on the possible meeting. The chance to apprehend several of Gotham's highest-ranking habitual felons excited Gordon greatly.

Across town, Johnny Viti was making a discovery. As he'd walked out of his VERY fashionable brick townhome to check the mail, he'd found an unmarked manila envelope with nothing written on it but his name. curious, Viti opened the envelope, and what was inside knocked the young man off of his feet.

Old photos, in black and white, showed Sal Maroni meeting with a man Viti didn't know. What he saw in the next shot made him both sick to his stomach and angry beyond words all at once. The photo was of his trusted uncle, Sal Maroni, shaking hands and receiving an envelope from the man who'd allegedly planted the bomb in his father's car. The next photo showed Maroni pointing towards places on the car, then to himself. Viti couldn't fully process what these pictures were telling him right away. His trusted uncle! The man who'd assumed legal guardianship of him after his father's death, had been the very man who'd condemned him to it. Quickly, Viti ran back into his house and picked up his cell phone. He had a decision for cobblepot now……

Janice Porter hung up the phone and smiled. She'd just received the most important phone call of her career. Possibly of her life. An anonymous source from deep inside Arkham had confirmed that Harvey Dent was being held there by the Gotham Justice Department. What she needed now was proof that Jim Gordon was the one who'd ordered it. Hunches and anonymous sources didn't tend to hold up well in court, and while she wasn't overly concerned with the judicial process, she needed hard fact for her case. she knew who she had to call for this evidence, but she wasn't sure she wanted to.

Selina Kyle had to be dreaming. She'd come home from her very demanding job today to find six dozen roses waiting for her at her apartment. On top of the last dozen was a note that read "Tonight. 8 PM. Downstairs. –Bruce." She tried unsuccessfully to contain her grin. Her billionaire boyfriend-her boyfriend- was coming to surprise her, and Selina was a big fan of surprises.

Arkham Asylum seemed especially creepy to all those employed there that day. Not just because of the eerie grounds themselves, but a strange aura surrounded all those unfortunate enough to have been on the property. Arkham Asylum was not a place one wanted to find themselves on any day, but for unexplained reasons, today would be especially terrifying……..


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

As soon as Bruce Wayne got the call that Lucius Fox wanted to see him in the applied sciences division at the newly-formed WayneTech, a sense of dreadful excitement washed over him. To be seeing the prototype of a useless car was something Wayne wasn't sure how he felt about. One the one hand, he was sure the new "Batmobile," as the press called it, would be a technological wonder worthy of Lucius and himself. On the other hand, every day that passed grew him more comfortable not being Batman, and greater indecision on this matter was most assuredly not what Wayne needed. As he rode the special service elevator he'd had installed specifically for his frequent trips down to Fox's facility, Wayne carefully weighed the many things going on in his life, hoping to reach a decision regarding his crime-fighting alter-ego. None did.

The elevator doors opened and Wayne stepped out into an industrially-lit warehouse designed specifically for Fox's top-secret innovations. He stepped out quickly and turned left, spotting Fox waiting for him, hands folded in front of him.

"Mr. Wayne."

"Lucius." The two shook hands and turned, Wayne falling behind Fox slightly so as to follow him.

"My designers think they're working on an urban assault vehicle. Something for the Israelis."

"Israelis?"

"Sure. Other than the government, and your rather unusual…hobbies, they buy more from us than anyone. Have to protect the Promised Land, it seems."

Wayne shook his head as they continued down the dark corridor. To both sides he saw old prototypes in various stages of repair as he walked towards a large iron door. Quickly, Fox swiped a card into a keypad, hit a seven-digit pass-code, and said his name into a vocoder. "Damn, tight security here at my place," Wayne thought to himself, before wondering if even he had been cleared for entry.

As he walked through the door, Bruce Wayne was immediately taken back at the sleek, powerful, magnificent black machine he saw before him. The front end was snubbed, resembling the front end of a Dodge Charger or one of the new Ford Mustang models. Large headlights adorned the body, and well as a police-style front bumper. There were no doors, only a sliding roof in the forward position. Glancing inside, he saw several devices of varying uses, ranging from a high-end GPS to what looked to be custom weapons systems. The back raised slightly and small wings were mounted on the top of the back, hiding more weapons.

Mounted on the rear of the vehicle was the same sort of turbine-like device that could be found on the back of the tumbler. Shooting fire, the device enabled you to reach top speed in seconds, while not overworking the powerful engine.

"Lucius, this is…breathtaking," Wayne remarked, clearly taken aback at the ingenuity of the vehicle.

"Thank you. My engineers were each assigned to one section. That way no one saw the whole finished product, except for a single welder who just got a promotion."

"Promotion?"

"Yes. He now runs our munitions plant in Oslo."

Bruce walked around the vehicle again. He could see himself in this. This car was exactly what he'd seen in his mind when he designed it. Lucius had not disappointed him…

Johnny Viti waited patiently outside the Gotham Plaza Hotel for his uncle to arrive. Upstairs, men of various levels of wealth and involvement in Gotham's criminal underworld waited for the summit that Oswald Cobblepot had summoned them all for. He saw his uncles' black Mercedes pull up and flicked his cigarette into the street.

"Uncle!" He said loudly, grinning as Maroni exited the car, bodyguards in tow. He embraced him, earnestly, then motioned for him to come inside.

"Everyone's here. They're waiting for you in the Penthouse Suite upstairs."

Maroni nodded. He knew something was amiss, but his sources had been thus far unable to uncover what was at the heart of his nephew's extremely erratic behavior.

The two men walked briskly into the hotel lobby, hoping to avoid suspicion. Viti, being careful not to portray his true emotions, pushed the button to signal that they were going up. As the doors opened, almost immediately, Johnny signaled for his uncle to go first, then walked in behind him.

In his mind, Viti ran through the list of possible consequences of what he was about to do. Jail time, risk of collateral damage from members of his uncle's crew, even his own death. None of these things seemed as scary as continuing to live the lie of letting his uncle continue to live after selling out his father. Slowly, Johnny reached for a hidden gun in the waist of his pants. As Maroni heard the hammer click into place, he froze, heart skipping a beat.

"Uncle, I have a secret to tell you." Johnny said, softly.

"What is it?"

"There isn't any meeting. Well, there is, it's just that…you won't be attending. This is for my father."

With that, Johnny pulled the trigger on the .9mm pistol, firing two shots into the back of his uncle's head. When the elevator came to a stop, the doors opened, and a half-dozen of Cobblepot's goons, led by Kerry Copeland, waited anxiously for him. Viti looked at him, nodded, and signaled for the others to come take the body away. The men did so, and Viti joined Copeland.

"The boss is waiting for you." Copeland began, softly.

"He's not my boss. My partner, maybe, but not…."

Copeland turned towards him and spoke threateningly.

"Don't forget the nature of your agreement with Mr. C. You both have talents that are complimentary of one another. Don't let your ego get in the way of profit."

With those words, Viti's blood ran just a little colder. He knew that Cobblepot would have him dealt with the same way he'd just dealt with his uncle. He also knew the truth about the night his brother was murdered for refusing the offer that Cobblepot had made him.

"I won't. I assure you." Viti's reply came softly, in what was nearly a whisper.

"Good." The two of them walked down the hall and waited for the conference to begin…


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

**Sorry for the extreme delay. I've had several things going on in my personal life, and just when I had it all together, my favorite baseball player of all time left town after 21 seasons. I'm a little depressed. But, here goes…**

**As always, these characters are the exclusive property of DC comics.**

For Selina Kyle, time couldn't possibly pass soon enough. The minutes passed with the swiftness of molasses in the summertime, and every mundane task placed before her by her boss seemed insurmountable to achieve before she left work.

She'd never felt this way about anyone. She'd dated, sure, and even been engaged at one point, but Bruce made her feel like she wasn't any ordinary TV journalist. She smiled. Maybe their romance was a bit high-profile, but she knew how much it meant for Bruce to be spending this sort of time on, and with, her. She groaned audibly as she checked her e-mail inbox and found another hastily written request from her boss to get her ass in gear and finish these interviews for Gotham Tonight. How she loathed him. Forever pressuring her to use her relationship with Bruce as the inside track needed to score privileged information about Gotham socialites. So far, she'd spurned his idea, although, she admitted to herself, it did have some merit.

At Arkham Asylum, Friday was just like any other day. Other than the fishsticks the mess hall served up, rather than beef or pork, no one would even surmise what day it was by activities on the inside. Today, however, held special meaning to one man. For Harvey Dent, it had now been three months to the day since the death of the only woman he'd ever truly loved. Sure, he'd been with other women, but Rachel was the first woman he'd ever felt like he was better off with, than without. And now, in this dank, musty, God-forsaken basement, all he had was time to think about her. Avenging her death consumed every thought that Dent entertained. Someone would pay for what had happened to Rachel. Killing Detective Wirtz, and very nearly killing Detective Ramirez and Sal Maroni, had done very little to quell his thirst for blood.

Next door to his cell, the Joker planned a very daring escape. The city called to him, begging him to release the chaos that he'd mastered so well. And how he missed the city. Every cursed block, every foul intent rising on the night air to meet his ambition, every street bum and prostitute potentially becoming the next Dark Emperor of Gotham. He smirked. None of them would ever be as good as him, and he aimed to prove it.

He began his checklist. He had a contact on the outside, someone who, with one signal, would provide him with whatever resource he'd need to cast his long shadow, once again, over the city. He'd need help getting out. "Grundy's in," the Joker thought to himself, smiling that sick grin of his only slightly. "I'll need his particular…skill set…for what I have planned. Besides," he reflected, "Solomon makes me laugh." The next name on the list made the Joker stop and think. "Crane. A little too smart for my tastes. Thinks he's of importance." The Joker lifted his eyes, contemplating further, and licked his lips yet again. "Still, that blue stuff he cooks up might be useful."

His thoughts were interrupted by the large triple-reinforced door to his cell swinging open and two guards roughly intruding upon his internal peace and solitude. He jerked away from the first guard and received a blow to the head from the other for his trouble. "Hathaway," Joker read off of the man's nametag, remembering the name for a later time. He felt his hands being pulled together, and cold metal bracelets being fastened snugly around his waist. He looked up to see Dr. Quinzel, his beautifully arrogant therapist, staring down at him, arms planted firmly on the metal desk that he'd just been occupying. He was the first to speak;

"Hello, doctor."

"Jack." Quinxel answered, emphasizing the name as though she knew it wasn't his real name.

"Long time no see, doc. What happened? Gotham DA's office decided they had bigger fish to fry than lil' ol' me?"

She scoffed. "Hardly. We've been taking the time to analyze some of the answers you've been giving me."

Joker smiled, arrogantly. "What's the verdict, doc? Am I insane?"

She looked at him, first with a mix of hate and puzzlement, as though wondering how he could be so cool and collected about his fate. Her gaze quickly changed into another blend, this time of sympathy and condescension, as the realization of how insane this man truly was hit her for the first time.

"Officer Dalrymple," Quinzel called, beckoning the shift captain at Arkham to enter the room for the first time.

"Yes ma'am," the veteran guard responded back to her, somewhat warily.

Quinzel smirked at the Joker, clearly impressed with what she was about to do. "This man is to be separated from the general population and entered into solitary confinement. He is to speak with and interact with no one, save for his state-mandated exercise time, and even that is to be monitored as closely as possible."

With that, Quinzel spun on a heel and moved towards the exit. As she did so, guard Hathaway unlocked the Joker from his moorings in the chair, and as the Joker stood, he made his move.

In one swift motion, he slithered behind Hathaway, hooking his still-fastened handcuffs around Hathaway's neck. The other two officers, having heard Hathaway's screams, turned in a flash, weapons drawn quickly.

"Shoot him!" Hathaway screamed, caring little for his safety. Instantly, a light bulb went off in Dr. Quinzel's head. Were they to simply shoot the man, she'd have no more source for insight into his mind. Dozens of hours wasted. Her shot at the Nobel Prize. All gone.

"Wait!" She screamed, as the madman's countenance brightened slightly. "You can't shoot him!"

"Why the hell not?" Dalrymple answered back, incredulously. "Give me one good reason not to blow freak-show here to hell right now!"

As he said those words, the Joker began moving towards the back corner of his room. The one advantage he had over these men here, in this dungeon, is that he knew where all the little goodies were hidden. He yanked a struggling Hathaway back with him as the guards continued yelling at him not to move. He knew he had three minutes, tops, before the alarm began sounding, and that would draw more security than even he could handle. Quickly, he demanded the keys of his hostage, and when he refused, the Joker began pulling back on the chain. After a few seconds, the young guard produced the key, amidst the continuing shouts of his coworkers, and the Joker made him unshackle his hands.

"Don't do it, kid," came the admonished cry of Officer Dalrymple, but it was to no avail. Even though Hathaway was already a dead man, he thought that by heeding the Joker's word, he might live a little longer. Hathaway felt the prisoner shove him to the ground, and immediately reached for his holster. His gun, unbeknownst to him, had been pulled from its holster and now rested safely in the hands of the one man in this facility he was truly afraid of.

There was no stopping the Joker now. With a gun in his hand, and using Guard Hathaway as a human shield, the most dangerous inmate in the history of Arkham Asylum was now firmly in control.

"Radios. Batteries out, on the floor," he commanded as the guards reluctantly obliged. This would buy him extra time to make his escape. Just as suddenly as the Joker had made his move, guard Hathaway attempted to reverse positions with the madman, and got a shank to the midsection for his troubles. Joker dropped the dying officer onto the floor and continued his slow advance on the remaining asylum personnel. Stopping briefly to pick up one of the radios and turned towards Dr. Quinzel.

"Are you coming, Doc-TOR?"

Quinzel hesitated. For a moment she weighed her options, then found herself screaming as she watched the Joker put bullets in both of the security guards in the room. Almost immediately after the alarm began to sound. Soon the maximum security wing would be crawling with security. The Joker pointed his stolen weapon at her, licking his lips anxiously.

"Well?"

Cautiously, she agreed to follow him out of the chaotic room and into the hallway. Whatever was going to happen.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

**Daniel-**

**Thank you so much for the incredible review. That shit is better than 90% of the stories on this board. From now on, all of you who read this better come like that if you're going to review. Simply awesome. Now I'm amped.**

**I don't own DC Comics. Although I wish I had a piece of that Watchmen franchise, because then I'd be a rich man.**

**Oh yeah, I skipped chapter 13 because I'm very superstitious.**

**On with the storytales…**

Selina Kyle felt like a seventh grader. All the repressed memories and long-suppressed emotions of what it felt like to have spent hours upon hours in detention came flowing forth from her again as she sat behind her desk, waiting for the email to come from her bosses' office that would clear her from further obligations. After all, she had a date with Bruce, and that in and of itself was enough to make for a very interesting evening.

Her inner reflection was interrupted by the jingle of her inbox, the comforting, gentle sound informing her that her boss had cleared her work and she was free to go. Hurriedly, she snatched up her keys and cell phone, plunged them into her purse and walked towards the large parking structure next to the news station's headquarters…

Jim Gordon had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. The radio connection coming out of Arkham Asylum had been quiet for too long for Gordon's liking, and repeated requests for status updates had been met only with their standard "Code 15," which was a request to hold for the status updates. Gordon's office phone rang, jolting him from the concerned state of concentration he'd found himself in.

"Gordon," the beleaguered Commissioner barked into his phone, his signal for whoever was on the other line to tell their story quickly.

"Jim? It's Ed." The frantic tone on coming from the other end of the line further raised Gordon's alert.

"Ed. Where are you?"

"I'm down here at City Hall. There's been a subpoena issued for you in court. Porter intends to prove you perjured during your deposition with her."

Gordon didn't understand. Why would the District Attorney want the Police Commissioner in jail? "Unless," he thought, "Porter's working with someone else."

"Ed," Gordon began hastily, "get over to Arkham. They've been on almost total radio silence all day. I can't raise a response from anyone there. With what we've got over there, we can't afford any sort of escape."

"Aye, Commissioner." Ed O'Hara answered, betraying his Irish upbringing.

"Ed, I mean it," Gordon continued. "No matter what happens to me, you can't let them get to Dent and the others. No matter what it takes. Shut it down if you have to. Only don't let Porter find out Dent is in there. "

"I'm on my way, Jim."


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

**Thanks to all who reviewed and added me to favorite stories. You guys keep me going, no matter how slow the going might be!**

**Daniel-**

**Thanks for another great, constructive review. I loved those animated Batmans too, and remember vividly watching the clock on the school bus hoping to get home on time. Fabulous stuff. The fact that that show was animated on black paper, to truly illustrate the dark, twisted world of Gotham, is something that's really stuck with me. **

**And I think Gordon has become my favorite character. Gary Oldman is a phenomenal character actor, and I love the way he plays Gordon with a nod to Kermit the Frog on THE MUPPET SHOW, who just wants to put on a variety show, but can't, because those damn animal puppets won't behave.**

**As always, I don't own Batman.**

While O'Hara raced across the city, Johnny Viti sped away from the very…informative meeting he'd just had with Cobblepot. "The man is a visionary," Viti mused to himself, "but he may also be completely insane." His phone rang, breaking the growing silence in his chauffeured vehicle. Checking his call ID, his face brightened and his mouth grew into a genuine smile. He answered.

"Darling, how are you?"

From across the city, a female voice answered. "I miss you horribly, baby. When are you coming?"

Viti answered. "Soon, darling, soon. Are you making any progress on your end?"

"Absolutely. He has no idea."

"Wonderful. Have him brought in, then watch while he crumbles."

The female voice on the other end changed its tone, from business to a much softer, more sultry pitch.

"You promise you'll be here soon? I need you."

Viti grinned. "Wouldn't miss it for the world…"

Bruce Wayne didn't ordinarily get nervous. After all, this was Gotham's most eligible bachelor. He regularly absconded with entire ballet troupes, yet now he found his stomach in knots over one single female news reporter. As he adjusted the fold on his shirt collar, his mind wandered to something he'd heard on the news about the new D.A. asking Commissioner Gordon about the night Harvey Dent was allegedly murdered by the Batman. That was most decidedly not good news. The mere fact that some in the media had begun speculating that the story they'd been given regarding the details of that night was bad in and of itself, but the fact that someone had apparently now figured out that Harvey Dent may still be alive would carry disastrous consequences for the entire city.

But tonight, none of that was important. He'd set out to make this night special for himself and the woman he found himself falling for. He checked his PDA, responding a confirmation to his personal pilot letting him know the helicopter was ready. Everything was set. Now, he just needed his date. A light headwind wouldn't hurt, either.

The motor pool at Arkham Asylum was the one place on the grounds of the island fortress where neither fences, alarms, nor surveillance of any time would further encumber the escape of the band of insane pilgrims now racing with time to grasp a glimpse of sweet freedom.

It had given the Joker a sick sort of pleasure to get to parade down the cell block at Arkham and decide which of the inmates were to be freed and which ones had to stay locked in their cages until whenever help might arrive. It reminded him of his childhood, perpetually picked last in every playground game he'd ever been forced to take part in. After all, the only thing worse than playing games with the neighbor children when he was a boy, had been staying home.

Of course Solomon was in. A man with his particular skill set, who was also so easily influenced, wasn't easy to find on the street, and Joker had taken an immediate liking to the simple giant. Dr. Crane had been a tough decision. He rubbed Joker the wrong way, and something about his condescending nature really made the Joker want to crush his larynx with his shoe, but he really, really wanted to get his hands on some of that fear toxin, and Crane was the only man he knew who could establish a steady supply. So he'd agreed to free Crane, on the explicit condition that he keep his mouth shut.

Then there was Dent. There would've been nothing Joker would've liked more than to take one of Gotham's most prominent symbols of law and order and kill him in the most possible manner he could think of, and he had some doozies, but he also owed Commissioner Gordon some payback, and his contact on the outside had been extremely adamant about busting Dent out whenever he made his escape.

Last, but certainly not least, was the lovely Dr. Quinzel. It deeply worried the Joker that he hadn't already slit this woman's throat, because ordinarily it would've been at the top of his "to do" list, but something about this woman excited him. She was different. He found the equal to his own brilliance (and arrogance) in her beautiful package. He was quite certain that he would have to kill her at some point, but until then, he'd enjoy teasing (and torturing) her.

In the distance he could hear the escape alarm ring out across the grounds of the prison. Any second now the guards would come to their senses and the cops would be here and any chance he had to deliver what he'd promised to his benefactor. And he was nothing if not a man of his word…..


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 20**

**Thanks again to all for the support and positive reviews/feedback. **

Oswald Cobblepot was clearly on edge. His plan, so painstakingly crafted for months, was now in the hands of a painted madman who had as much reason to double-cross him as to follow through on the assignment he'd given him.

He'd done everything he possibly could. He'd made sure his contacts in the asylum were clear of the Joker's wrath, and even tipped off Dr. Crane to be on the lookout. Now, his contacts in the DA's office were waiting for him to deliver on what he'd promised; Harvey Dent. IF they could produce Dent, they could bring formal perjury and obstruction of justice charges against Police Chief Jim Gordon, making sure he was out of the picture for what they had planned next. Truth be told, Cobblepot could've cared less whether or not they ever even took the guy to trial. Cobblepot would even go so far as to say he liked Gordon. But he'd been paid a VERY hefty sum by an unnamed party to deliver Dent alive to Janice Porter's office, and he intended to do just that.

Now, his chauffeured limousine sped haphazardly towards a parking deck near the site of the new baseball stadium. The crew working that particular construction job was all teamster guys, friendly to Cobblepot's agenda, and quiet about things that weren't their business.

In the limo with him were Viti, Copeland, and three other bodyguards. In addition, a black SUV following the limo carried six armed men, giving this convoy the look of your standard presidential motorcade. Ordinarily, Cobblepot would've been content with just Copeland, but he'd heard about what this painted whack-job had done to some of the guys he'd been in business with before, and he wasn't taking any chances. He felt his body tense up as his driver began making the left turn into the garage, and began re-assuring himself that he was in control.

The limo came to a stop, and he heard the doors of the SUV slamming shut as his men from the other car began their quick check of the surrounding area. As soon as they knocked on his roof, giving him the "all clear," Cobblepot opened his door and he, Copeland, and Johnny Viti piled out of the vehicle. From the opposite end of the lot they saw a white box van creep words them. Copeland gave the men a subtle signal, and they spread off in pre-arranged positions, giving Cobblepot and Copeland maximum protection.

Cobblepot noticed a few things hat struck him as odd as the van pulled up in front of them. For one, Dr. Crane was driving. Cobblepot was certain the Joker wouldn't let anyone else be in control of the getaway vehicle. The second thing he noticed was that the psychologist the news spoke of as the last person to have been seen with him was still alive. As the very odd-looking bunch of escapees from Arkham filed out of the van slowly, he also noticed that the hooded man he thought to be Dent wasn't struggling. He obviously wasn't aware of the fate awaiting him. Next came the giant known as Solomon Grundy. Cobblepot had only heard of Grundy, but what he heard gave him goosebumps now that the man was standing just a few feet away. Then came Quinzel. The doctor looked tired and frazzled, but she appeared to be unharmed. The Joker came out immediately behind her, keeping a gun trained on her. He walked over to Grundy, handed him a gun, and motioned Grundy to come closer.

"Hey, Gigantor."

Grundy spoke slowly, as always.

"Yeah?"

"Make sure none of these….lowlifes lay a hand on any of us. Especially the good doctor here." He handed Grundy the handgun he held, and pushed Quinzel towards him.

"Okay."

With that, Joker turned towards Cobblepot, smiling the type of smile that let Cobblepot and his party know how sinister this man was.

"It's good to be back."

Cobblepot forced a thin-lipped smile. "I trust your trip wasn't too…eventful."

"I've had worse. You must be Oswald. Can I call you Oz?"

Cobblepot quit forcing his smile. "No."

"Ok, Oz. I brought your package." He motioned towards the hooded man still in his Arkham coveralls. "I know he's what's important to you, though I don't know why."

"That's…personal."

Joker shrugged. "Have it your way, Oz." He took a step closer to Cobblepot, causing Copeland and the other men there to reach for their weapons. Cobblepot shok his head.

"Not yet."

Copeland sighed. He hated playing games with this psycho. Had he his way, he'd just take Dent, shoot this clown, and be done with it. But the boss had insisted on playing the diplomacy game with the freak.

"So, Oz," the Joker started in again, "do you have my money?"

"I do." He motioned for one of his men in suits to come forward. He did, carrying a silver attaché case. He then sent forward two of his men from the opposite side to collect Dent. Cobblepot pointed towards the hooded man.

"That's Dent, right?"

"It is. Har. V. Dent."

"Ok, then." He had the man with the case lay it down at the Jokers' feet, while his two henchmen forced a now-struggling Dent into the SUV. The Joker picked up the case and handed it carefully to Dr. Crane, who had left his post in the driver's seat to join the party. At this, Cobblepot's eyes flickered with recognition.

"Dr. Crane."

"Oswald," the doctor answered flatly. At this, the Joker raised an eyebrow, suspicious of the existing relationship between them.

"You two know each other?"

Cobblepot looked over at the Joker. "The good doctor here did me a favor once. He-"

Cobblepot's words were cut off by the screech of brakes and the flashing blue lights of the half-dozen police cars that were speeding towards their gathering. Cobblepot's men scattered, taking positions behind vehicles and the large concrete support beams, while the Joker motioned for his party to return to the van they'd come in.

"It's time to go." He signaled for Grundy to follow him, taking the gun from his hand and shoving Quinzel inside the sliding side door. He reached under the passenger's seat, pulling out the same model pump shotgun he'd become so familiar with during his last crime spree. He handed it to Grundy and smiled wickedly.

"Time to play, Solomon."

This time, Grundy returned his gleefully violent smile.

"I like to play…"

Shots began ringing out from all around the garage as police cars came to a screeching halt. Patrolmen opened their doors and pulled their guns, using their cars as cover. Cobblepot's men, most of them hired mercenaries from one European country or another, began returning fire with automatic weapons from behind the cover they'd sought with their head start over the police. Cobblepot glanced at Copeland, then Johnny Viti, and the three of them, in unison, headed for the SUV vacated by the half-dozen thugs who know stood shooting it out with Gotham's finest. The Joker and Grundy were popping out from one side of the van or the other, taking shots at the police officers. Then Joker and Grundy heard Crane start the ignition, letting them know that it would no longer be prudent for them to continue their firefight. Grundy jumped in the sliding door, followed by the Joker, and the van pulled away, narrowly missing another car speeding into the garage. In their hurry, they hadn't noticed the navy blue unmarked car passing the parking garage as they were leaving turn around and stealthily begin following them. At almost the same time, Cobblepot, Copeland, and Viti arrived at the black SUV that Dent had been forced into. Viti saw in his peripheral vision one, then two of the men they'd brought with them be cut down by the policemen's gunfire. Copeland jumped into the driver's seat, fired their vehicle up, and made some tire tracks of his own…


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 21**

**All you non-reviewing pricks should PM Daniel and thank him. He is the reason I'm still writing this. Like I don't have better shit to do with my time than write bullshit comic book kiddie stories for you jerkoffs….**

**Batman is DC's. Not mine. Fuckers…**

**I'm kidding. Thank you all for reading. But seriously, if you don't review, and I know tons of you read b/c I get all the "favorite stories" notices, then fuck you.**

The motley, sinister band of Arkham escapees limped collectively onto a side street in the Narrows, the fading twilight granting them a bit of refuge from the ever-growing net of the police search that expanded every second that Gotham's enemy #1 remained at large. The Joker smiled to himself. If these subhuman pigs he found himself associated with had known that it was on this very street in the Narrows that he'd undergone the transformation from troubled young street hood to Gotham's "Smiling Demon", they likely would've never agreed to come down here with him. Actually, truth be told, two of them weren't so bad. He genuinely liked Grundy. Or rather, he actively didn't want him to die. His simplistic nature and single-minded obsession with mayhem combined with an impressionable, childlike psyche, made Solomon Grundy a very handy guy to have around.

His gaze shifted to the good doctor. If nothing else, their were some "needs" she could satisfy for him. But something told him she could be used for more than that. As they pulled into an alley next to a two story dilapidated brick home, the gears in the Joker's mind began turning, and that wasn't going to be good for anyone…

Selina Kyle's apartment was entirely too warm. The gorgeous reporter could feel her internal temperature rising as the minutes drew closer to her next rendezvous with her billionaire boyfriend. If she'd been gorgeous on their first date, the now famous whirlwind enchantment at Gotham's Casino Night, she was draped in elegant simplicity now. Her plain black blouse provided a wonderful backdrop for the dazzling jewelry she wore in her ears and around her neck, and her black pants accentuated her figure perfectly. Bruce hadn't specified how formal the attire on this outing would be, but she felt comfortable in her assumption that had she needed to dress up, he would've let her know. She smiled at her reflection in her bedroom mirror. "Not bad," she allowed. Quickly, she grabbed her keys and cell phone, stuffed them into her black bag, and walked out her front door.

In the back room of the Iceberg Lounge, a hastily-arranged set of tables and chairs now formed a crude barrier around the hooded form slumped on a low stool in front of them. Cobblepot, Viti, Copeland, and the rest of the Iceberg crowd waited restlessly for their silent partner to arrive. A cruel smirk formed across Viti's lips. Soon he'd be able to reveal to them all that it was HE, not Cobblepot, who was the master designer behind this plan. He simply needed Cobblepot's resources. His immediate funding, his legion of armed subordinates, and his fleet of vehicles all capable of distributing mayhem throughout Gotham City. Soon, he'd bend all these things, and Gotham City itself, to his own will…

**I know this is a short update. I had lots of situations I wanted to address, but to advance all these storylines in one update would've taken too long. **


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 22**

**Sorry about the rant before the last chapter. I'm just tired of seeing inferior writers having hundreds of reviews, while I don't have two per chapter. Review, people, your input is valued.**

**Oh, and I get asked all the time via PM how far along in the story we are. We're a bit less than halfway. I'm thinking 45-50 chapters total. We're nearing the edge of the cliff, and once we plunge, it'll be a quick, scary-ass ride to where we're going. Be ready…**

**BTW, I'm really digging the story "Bad Jokes" by Naturally Unlucky. Very perceptive look into the descent into madness of Harley Quinn. Check it out…**

**As always, Batman isn't mine. He's DC's.**

Bruce Wayne was late. Again. Another meeting at Wayne Enterprises had dragged on well into the time he was supposed to be getting home, and the resulting delays had cut well into his evening. His eight o' clock planned arrival was still possible, but it would take punctuality to the infinite degree to make his night with Ms. Kyle the one he'd planned.

He hated going into downtown unprotected. Since he'd put Batman on indefinite hiatus, the petty crime there was on the rise again. Muggings, theft, and other various other flavors of mischief went unchecked as the Gotham Police force worked overtime trying to fix Gotham's bigger problems. "Which is all well and good," Wayne thought, "but try telling the hard-working middle class of Gotham that their problems aren't important."

More and more, Wayne struggled with his decision to cease his life as Batman. He was hunted, sure enough, but he knew the police wouldn't catch him unless he allowed them to. "What is it, then, that keeps me in this docile state?" He wondered to himself as he marched down the expansive staircase towards the waiting car outside the front door.

Outside, he saw Alfred waiting by the front door of the late-model Bentley. He thought for a minute about where he planned on taking Ms. Kyle tonight, then walked around the back of his vehicle towards his loyal butler. He shook his head.

"Not tonight, Alfred."

Alfred backed away, clearly impressed with his employer's desire to have as intimate an experience as possible with the gorgeous reporter.

"Very well, Mr. Wayne. Will you be needing anything else?"

Bruce smiled. "No, Alfred, take the rest of the night off." He raised his eyebrows. "I mean it."

Alfred smirked. "As you wish, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce waved, looked at his watch, and ducked into the beautiful car. Alfred watched with a look of awe and pleasure as he watched Bruce pull away towards the city.

"I think he might like this one…"

Janice Porter hated traffic. With every fiber of her being, she wished she had the power to part traffic like the red sea, the way she'd seen in so many of those half-assed comedies on TV. Sadly, she had no superpowers, nor did she know anyone with them, and so instead she languished, along with millions of other Gothamites, mere blocks from her intended destination.

Her contact's voice had sounded urgent on the phone, imploring her to stop what she was doing and get her ass to the Iceberg Lounge. So she did just that. If what she thought was going down was actually happening, whatever paperwork she was doing could wait. Her "employer" was paying her big dollars to build a perjury case against the higher-ups in the Gotham Police Department, and so she would do just that. With the absence of Batman, her case load grew lighter with each passing day. That gave her idle time, and as a woman who was already reputed to have a somewhat "flexible" set of moral standards, taking bribes didn't seem like all that big a step from what she was accused of being already. But now, if her instincts about who she suspected was going to be waiting for her at the Iceberg were correct, she stood in a position to bring the power structure in Gotham to its' knees. No more would she be the butt of jokes. Gotham itself would be forced to stop judging her for her loose personal lifestyle and begin to respect her for her body of work as a litigator.

She knew she was close to the building, but the cab was utterly motionless in the oppressive Narrows traffic. She sighed, gathered her jacket, and reached into her purse.

"I'll walk from here."

The cabbie looked at her incredulously.

"You sure?" In the twilight hours, the Narrows was no place for single walkers. Particularly ones so…appealing.

"I'll be fine, thanks."

She rolled her eyes at the driver's insolence, rooted around in her purse, found the right bills, and dropped them haphazardly in the window between driver and passenger. Hurriedly, she opened the door and began a brisk walk down the decaying sidewalk, guided by the glorious bulbs off the marquis of the Iceberg Lounge…


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

**Thank you, Madame Estrella, for the amazing feedback. I was seriously thinking of not writing this story any more, but you keep me going. I'll do what you said about the page breaks, too.**

**I don't own Batman. I am, however, in the market…**

Doctor Harleen Quinzel really wanted to know where exactly the hell she was. It'd been impossible to tell from her particular seat in the stolen windowless van where they'd arrived, but her acute sense of direction (and smell) told her they were in the Narrows. The dilapidated old two story townhome she now found herself in was apparently a place that had played a part in the Joker's life. Old yellowed pictures and newspaper articles littered the floor, and the whole place smelled of cigarettes and gunpowder. "A rather interesting combination," she observed. The Joker himself hadn't said anything since they'd arrived, and Dr. Crane was rather busily sewing something that appeared to be made of burlap. "A new mask," she realized. Whatever they had planned, she'd be willing to bet that the Joker would want to get his spindly hands on some of Crane's "fear toxin," an idea that made a shudder run through her body.

Then there was that Grundy freak. The giant currently lay curled up sleeping on the stained, dusty sofa that occupied what Quinzel assumed had once been the living room. In her childhood home, they'd called that particular room the "family room," but Quinzel's mind refused to process the image of anyone's family being brought up in this room. Grundy was a loud sleeper, his heavy breaths and random sleep-babbling disturbing what was otherwise quite easily the most eerily disturbing quiet that the doctor had ever been a party to.

She heard a toilet flush elsewhere in the small hideout. "So there's plumbing," she thought to herself, foiling her hypothesis of the house being abandoned. She felt the footsteps of what had to be the Joker coming closer to her, and despite being handcuffed to one arm of her chair, she turned to meet his gaze.

"Well, hello, doc-TOR," the Joker began, again emphasizing the second syllable, a smirk forming across his sinister face. "Are you finding your accommodations…suitable?"

Quinzel suppressed a shocked laugh. Was he serious? She decided to test him. After all, she'd most probably end up dead regardless of how she handled this particular scenario, and maybe by keeping him off balance, she'd buy herself some time to figure out what to do.

She returned his smirk.

"It would be much easier to be comfortable if I could leave this chair," she responded, rattling the cuffs on the armrest for emphasis.

The Joker kept moving towards her. As he walked, she felt herself drawing away from him as he approached her. She hugged her knees into her chest, readying herself for whatever the Joker's mood might bring. Her stomach welled up into her throat as she saw him reach into his pocket, undoubtedly for some implement to inflict unnamed torture of all kind. Her terror turned instantly into a mix of confusion and relief as he pulled the key to the handcuffs he'd found in the stolen Asylum van and calmly unlocked Quinzel from her binding. He did, however, turn his body to face her, placing a gloved hand on each armrest, trapping Quinzel in her chair.

"Harley," he began, using his preferred pet name for her, "I'm letting you loose under two conditions. One, that you don't try to run." He raised his eyebrows, implying the severity of the consequences for violating this rule. "And two," he continued, roughly lifting her chin to look her in the eye, "that you don't call the cops." He sighed. "I don't like cops."

Without waiting for a response, the Joker walked over to the rotting slab of wood shoddily attempting to pass as a dinner table where Dr. Crane sat in apt concentration. Quinzel continued silently observing her subject as he sat down, choosing a space uncomfortably close to Dr. Crane.

"Whatcha workin' on, Crane?" The Joker inquired, in a mocking childlike tone that scared Quinzel worse than anything she'd seen from him so far.

"A mask." Crane replied, as though speaking to a belligerent child. "I need a new one, since the Batman stole it." He shook his head. "Bastard."

The Joker giggled and licked his lips. "Yes, Batman. He's taken from all of us. But no more." With this, the Joker pulled a small, nearly illegible drawing from his breast pocket. "I have an idea. Seeing all the Batman's…wonderful toys…has _inspired_ me." He looked around, then drew even closer to Dr. Crane. "I need some of that 'magic potion' you used to cook up. Got any more?"

Crane slid the crudely drawn design into his line of vision. "You want to weaponize the fear toxin," he deduced, talking as much to himself as the Joker. "But what's the apparatus? I can't tell what this is…"

The Joker shook his head impatiently, becoming more and more irritated that his new cohorts weren't accustomed to processing at his level of genius. But then, who was?

"It's a flower. For my…lapel."

Crane stared at him incredulously. Was he serious? The squirting flower gag was a bunch of dime store nonsense. What would the most devastating criminal mind of the last fifty years want with a children's prank?

"That seems a bit .. amateurish for a criminal of your stature" Crane replied, needling the Joker with his tone.

Anger swelled up inside the Joker. Then he remembered who he was dealing with. He could literally end this skinny little punk's life any time that he chose to. But he needed the fear toxin, and he had no idea where to get it, so he'd have to play the Scarecrow's little game.

"Johnny boy," he began, using Dr. Crane's first name, "sometimes you hafta find the humor in your work. Really keeps things in…perspective, you know?"

With that, he began laughing maniacally, Crane's and Quinn's eyes both fixed on him, mouth agape. After laughing at his own "joke" another minute, he suddenly stopped, looked around, shrugged his shoulders, and changed the topic of conversation.

"So, there's a few little errands that I need to run. Get a new car, maybe some new...minions. Nothing major." He turned towards Quinn. "Do I need to chain you again, or can you…play nice?"

Quinn blanked. She had no idea what to say. But it had better be something, and it'd better come to her fast.

"I won't run." She replied, staring straight into the ground.

The Joker knelt down, speaking slowly, which only added to the menace in his voice.

"I know."

His eyes were burning through her now, and she didn't need to look up at him to know that he was annoyed with her, for some reason. He gave a dismissive sigh, turned, and faced Dr. Crane.

"Johnny? You're coming with me. We're gonna get some of that blue stuff."

Crane shook his head. "It'll take time. It doesn't grow here."

The Joker smiled another of those evil grins he was becoming so famous for.

"I've got time, Crane."

From across the street, Edward O'Hara had stumbled upon a pretty decent spot from which to stake out the Joker. He'd radioed HQ for backup, and to his knowledge, the fact that the Joker was free was being withheld by the city officials, for the time being. He figured he had about thirty minutes to formulate a plan before word began to spread. Even as he processed the situation, he knew, with absolute certainty, that this situation was going to escalate beyond his control…


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

**Thank all of you who showed up last Wednesday and made this a record high in views for me. I love you all. Still, review.**

**Madame Estrella is a genius. I am simply living in her world.**

**I've been asked via PM a couple of times where some of these characters come from. Check out **_**The Long Halloween **_**for good lucks at Solomon Grundy and the Falcone/Viti families, and **_**Dark Victory **_**for Janice Porter. Amazing work from amazing authors. **

**Oh, and RIP Michael Jackson. The King is Dead. Long Live the King.**

**Batman isn't mine.**

From the second Ed O'Hara finished radioing headquarters his position and situation, the waves of fear and dread began washing over him nonstop. Never in his career had he been this close to such complete lawless evil. Even as a mob-buster in Chicago, where he spent much of the time walking his beat with a fairly hefty price on his head, the idea that his life was one mistake away from being over was never more apparent than it was at that very moment.

He could see stirring from the front of the house, and from what he could tell, there was little to no activity either inside or outside the house. He couldn't, however, decide if that was a good thing or not. To him, every second he sat here with the house under surveillance was another second that help was on the way.

He also felt sick to his stomach. He'd been unable to reach Arkham in time to stop the breakout. He'd also failed to apprehend the Joker and his little band, or rescue Dr. Quinzel, at the gunfight in the parking deck. "Well, no more," he told himself. Just as he was calling up every ounce of his internal strength, he watched with a mix of terror and anticipation as the Joker and a man who appeared to be Jonathan Crane walked quickly out the rotting side door of the flatboard house and began running down the street. "Not even the Joker is crazy enough to take the stolen Arkham van out again," he observed, with as humor as could be had in his current situation. He saw that the Joker appeared to be on a cell phone, and before he could wonder when he'd had time to grab one, a primer-colored SUV pulled up on the corner, opened its passenger door, and whisked them quickly away…

Selina Kyle was having the time her life. The theatre had been terrific, between the flawless performance and the amazing ox seats that Bruce apparently kept on retainer every night, and now she found herself on a moonlit helicopter ride towards a destination that she was sure would be as wonderful as everywhere else she'd been with this man. Yes, it was a fairly certain bet that Selina Kyle had taken up permanent residence on Cloud nine.

As they began their descent, signaling that they were near their destination, she felt a squeeze on her hand, and saw Bruce point casually as the now nearly-completed stadium that Wayne was overseeing appeared very large in his side window.

The pilot, a very nice man named Doug, set them down in centerfield. Bruce told her earlier that Doug had began his flying career doing combat missions over Vietnam, and was one of the finest pilots for hire in the northeastern United States. "Only the best," Kyle mused to herself.

They started by taking the first ever tour of the field, clubhouse, and stadium facility. Rachel marveled at the seamless transitions between beloved baseball history and the latest in amenities that all modern stadiums were including. The beautiful brick masonry along the edges of the playing field and all throughout the ballpark reminded her of her father's beloved Fenway Park, while the giant HD screen hanging gloriously in centerfield was in the running for world's largest, and the entire place gleamed in the radiant glow of the joy that it would soon bring Gotham's citizens.

Then she'd been taken to the bar & restaurant overlooking left field. In keeping with the team name, the place had been given the name "The Round Table." As the kitchen wasn't up and running yet, he'd had Malvolio's, the finest restaurant in Gotham City, cater a table for the two of them that overlooked the entire stadium.

It really was breathtaking with the lights on at night. Even though it wasn't yet structurally completed, she could just imagine what the place would look like when it was packed to the rafters.

"This place is…magnificent, Bruce. Truly." She mused, quietly.

"It is. The planners here have done a remarkable job. But that's not why we're here." He stood, beckoning one of the servants standing nearby to clear their settings, then reached out to take her by the hand.

"Then why are we here, Bruce?"

He stopped, drew in a breath as though to answer her, then instead took her face between his hand and kissed her. It began gently enough, then as they both found themselves enjoying it, it grew in length and intensity until they stood pressed against each other, Selina's arms wrapped around Bruce's neck. They might have gone on together into the night had Selina's cell phone vibrations not spoiled the serene moment. She blushed.

"I'm SO sorry, Bruce," she sputtered, wondering who would pay for this interruption tomorrow. She flipped open the top of her phone and cast her eyes upon the most unsettling text message she'd ever read;

"_Joker Escapes Arkham. Whereabouts unknown."_

"Oh, shit," she mumbled, more an involuntary reaction to the news than any sort of statement.

"What?' Bruce asked, trying to make eye contact. Rather than trying to explain, she simply handed her phone, message still open, to him.

At once the mood of the evening was ruined on Bruce Wayne. All the plans he'd had for tonight and beyond with this woman were thrown instantly to the back burner. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his own phone.

"Yeah, hello. I heard. Can you put it on the big T.V.?"

The very second Wayne made the request, Selina watched in wonder as the giant screen in centerfield flickered to life, its bright illuminating picture coming to life over the otherwise sullen facility. Wayne and Kyle both hurriedly stepped through a sliding door that separated the club from the stadium seating scaling down the side, seeking a better view of the news telecast now being displayed on the giant screen. Inwardly, the cutthroat newswoman inside of Kyle cursed her for not being the one on air when this story broke. It irritated her more than a little that that lecher Engel was going to break this story. His voice now echoed in the night air…

"…Again, for those of you just joining us, we have as yet unconfirmed reports that at approximately four P.M., the terrorist known simply as 'The Joker' escaped from the secure wing of Arkham Asylum. Again, these reports have yet to be confirmed by anyone at the Gotham Police Department, but we have now heard from at least two anonymous sources that the Joker has escaped, along with at least one other inmate, from Arkham Asylum…"

That was all Bruce Wayne needed to hear. Immediately, he began wlaking the short staircase back inside the Round Table, cell phone chirping with activity. As he stopped by the bar to speak with one of his employees, he felt Selina's hand latch onto his elbow. He turned, giving her his undivided attention.

"I have to go," she began, thinking of all she had to do now.

"I figured," Bruce replied, himself making his own mental checklist.

She drew close to him again, running her hands up his arms, resting them on his chest.

"I had a wonderful time, Bruce." She paused, not sure whether or not to tell him anything else.

"I did too, Selina. Really." Bruce answered, his heart beating a little faster. He felt a little nagging voice in his head telling him to say more, but his cool, aloof façade wouldn't allow him to lay it all on the table. He did find the presence of mind to continue.

"Why don't you call me when you're done at work? You can come see the place, maybe have a glass of wine.."

She smiled. "Watch your big-ass T.V.?"

He returned her playful grin. "Absolutely."

She nodded, then stood on her tip-toes to kiss him lightly on the lips. "I do have to warn you, it might be late before I get out of there."

He nodded his understanding, then took in a breath.

"I have a feeling I'll be up late, too…"


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

**I don't own Batman.**

**I won't elaborate much, because this ain't the proper forum, but I am deeply saddened by our loss of The Undisputed King of Pop. Michael Jackson was an inspiration to me as a musician, and his art will live on long after all of us are taken from this mortal coil. I am one who believes in the Afterlife, and it is my sincere Prayer that he has found the peace in death that he surely never had in life.**

**So I'll be leaving small, hidden tributes through the rest of this story. If you can find them all, I'll give you a prize.**

Kerry Copeland didn't like the cold. As a child, he'd been made to stand outside and play lookout during his brother's petty robberies, and after their rough…separation, he'd sworn to himself he'd never find himself spending that much time in the cold ever again. So it was of no little importance to him that he was now standing there freezing in the back room of the Iceberg Lounge waiting for their mystery benefactor to arrive.

The boss had been very specific about no one peeking or checking early. Even when the question of whether or not the man under the shroud was actually Dent was posed, he simply sneered and assured them that it was in fact Dent under the shroud. "After all," Cobblepot reminded them, "our supplier is renowned for being a man of his word."

So they waited. Gotham's organized crime gathered in the back room, growing restless, waiting for this unknown party to arrive.

Just as he was beginning to suspect that his person wasn't coming, the swinging double doors between the dining room and the prep area opened, and the jaws of the entire room dropped as Gotham District Attorney Janice Porter, along with Johnny Viti and a handful of bodyguards, walked into the crowd of gangsters as though she owned the place. Copeland couldn't suppress a smirk. "The cocky little bastard's dating the DA." He shook his head. "That's too good to have been planned."

"Ok, boys, I don't have all night," she half-yelled, her forceful voice cutting the tension in the air. "Let's find out who our mystery man of the hour is."

Several voices yelled their agreement. Cobblepot nodded and lightly brushed his lapel, the pre-arranged signal for Copeland to step forward and remove the mask. Copeland did so, untying the loose knot around the black cloth that served as the concealer of Harvey Dent's identity.

As he pulled off the shroud, he heard the collective gasp of Gotham's underworld, and he could've sworn that all the breath being sucked out of the atmosphere actually made the air a little thinner. He looked down, and immediately he understood what was so ghastly about Dent's appearance.

He'd seen the pictures. Someone at the Gotham Times had sold them to his boss after the paper refused to run them. Dent's exposed tissue and bone made him a sight worthy of children's nightmares. While it wasn't as horrifying to look at him now, clearly the delay in getting him skin grafts had caused considerable scarring. Finally, the former District Attorney spoke.

"Hello, Janice."

She smiled, but not the sort of grin that would set any observer at ease.

"Harvey."

"How bad is it?" He asked, inferring that he'd not been shown his own face since the surgery. "Which is probably for the best," Copeland mused to himself.

"If I were you, I'd keep my old picture on my driver's license."

With that, laughter filled the entire room, more due to the rising apprehension than any sort of genuine appreciation of the joke. It was tough to look at Dent. The tissue had been covered with skin, both real and synthetic, but the fake skin had a pinkish hue, and rose and fell with the varying levels of scar tissue underneath. It was probably more sanitary than the exposed insides, but Copeland wasn't sure it was an improvement.

Porter looked over at Copeland.

"Untie him," she barked, checking her watch.

Copeland looked at her incredulously. "Are you serious?"

She met his gaze, her own eyes smoldering with an equal blend of the sensuality she always possessed and her giddiness at having achieved her objective. Copeland looked over at Cobblepot, who looked as surprised as Copeland.

"Go ahead," Johnny Viti asserted over the silence. Copeland shrugged and shook his head, as though absolving himself of any responsibility, and began unfastening the bonds that held Dent in place. Whatever was going to happen, Cobblepot, and anyone associated with him, wouldn't be held responsible.

No sooner had Copeland finished untying Dent than two of the armed men surrounding Viti and Porter grabbed him roughly by the elbows, yanked him to a standing position, and trained their guns on him. Dent looked around, eyes straining trying to adjust to the light. A few of the faces in the room he recognized. Hell, a lot of them were people he'd tried to put away for racketeering or extortion or any number of charges. An internal case file popped up in his head every time a new face entered his line of vision. All criminals, all mob ties, all dangerous. Then it occurred to him that _he _was the same as the rest of these men in the eyes of the law. "And if that's the case," Dent internalized as he was dragged out the back door, "it may behoove me to begin acting like it…"

Harleen Quinzel was dreadfully bored. She was locked in a house with a smelly giant and yet felt completely compelled to stay exactly where she was. The fact that the Joker hadn't told her NOT to run hadn't exactly given her overwhelming confidence in her ability to flee this house of horrors. Yeah, she could get out of the house, but she still didn't have any idea where in the Narrows they were, and in an area like that, at night, no less, she'd take her chances with the Joker.

Not being able to leave the house, however, didn't mean she couldn't look around. She'd started with looking out the front window, seeing only other semi-standing houses and a neon sign advertising _The Starlight Sun_. "Clever name," Quinzel thought. She wondered to herself exactly what kind of establishment would prosper with a clientele base like the locals here, but pushed the thought to the back of her mind and continued on her fact-finding.

A scattered collection of newspaper clippings caught her eye. Not unusual, given her patient's (she wasn't able to think of him as anything else) penchant for changing headlines to things he found humorous, but these were different. These were articles, headlines, from as far back as fifteen years ago. The first one that caught her eye was from October eleven years ago. The exact day had been obscured, but the bold black print sent waves of dread and horror up the young doctor's spine;

_**School Fire Kills 23. No Suspects.**_

Quinzel read the article quickly and carefully, and her countenance grew more aghast with every sentence. The article described the horror of students in a small Catholic school not far from the house she stood in being trapped, twenty-three of them killed by either asphyxiation or burn-related injuries. What struck Quinzel as the most odd, however, was the fact that all the doors had been chained from the inside prior to the fire. "That means whoever started the fire waited until the building was burning to make their escape." Quinzel's eyes averted from that page, more because she was afraid her psyche couldn't handle the continued processing of that particular article.

The next newspaper article didn't have a headline, but Quinzel noted that this one had been torn out, rather than cut.

_**No Leads in Robbery, Double Murder**_

__Quinzel remembered this one. It was less than two years ago. It was widely acknowledged amongst law enforcement circles in Gotham as the first "Joker" crime. It began to occur to Quinzel that these clippings were the Joker's way of commemorating each of his crimes. She went on, reading of at least a dozen more murders, robberies, fires, beatings, and assorted other felonies for which no suspects were ever named. Instantly the weight of what this collection meant. "He's a collector." She realized. "Probably his own biggest fan," she deduced, pointing to her days as a student at Gotham U. "Classic sign of a sociopath." She put down the clippings, trying her best to leave them in the general area of where she found them. She wanted to see the rest of the house before the Joker got back, and she did NOT want to be caught looking around. Who knew what kind of mood he'd be in when he got back?

She started down the hall into what she assumed was the residential rooms of the house. The first room looked as thought no one had ever lived in it, except maybe the occasional spider. There was only a table in the room, some maps, a few scattered twenty dollar bills, and a few phone numbers for suppliers of various industrial equipment and vehicles.

She pulled the door closed quietly, and wandered down the hall, past the bathroom, (while making a mental note of where it was) and came to the back room. She opened the door quietly, so as not to wake up Grundy, and tried to adjust her eyes to the darkness. She noted that there was no immediately available light source in the room, making it next to impossible to see everything, but judging by the smells coming out of the room, she probably didn't want to. Body odor and diesel fuel were the two most prominent aromas, but there were also traces of gunpowder, cigarette smoke, some sort of hard alcohol, and several other trace elements in the air.

The sights in the room didn't make her feel any better than the smells, from what she could see. In one corner, she saw crates of what appeared to be weapons. Lots of weapons. Next to them was a drum of what she hoped wasn't flammable. A bare mattress on a fairly ornate bed frame struck her curiosity, but it wasn't even on the first page of bizarre stuff she'd seen today.

She wanted to keep looking around, but it was futile at night in a room with no light, so she decided her curiosity would have to be quelled another day. She made her way to the front part of the house, stopping at the bathroom, and then made her way into the dimly lit, dingy kitchen. She was shocked to see that the refrigerator, while speckled with clumps of God knows what, not only ran, but had a working light bulb. There wasn't much in there. Some beer, a half eaten burger from a local fast food eatery, and a few four-packs of chocolate pudding, which struck Dr. Quinzel as odd. She heard Grundy stirring in the front room. "I'd better find a way to make myself scarce," she thought to herself. She most definitely didn't want Grundy to know they were there alone together…


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 26**

**Big shout out to Lebanon. You guys have been my biggest readers outside of my homeland and our brethren across the Atlantic (The UK.). Much love, Lebanese peoples. **

Deep within the recesses of Wayne Manor, away from the escalating tensions of Gotham City, Bruce Wayne had a dilemma. With the very fiber of his being, the desire to don the suit and mask echoed off his bones and into his brain, the loud internal voice of his conscience telling him he exactly what he needed to do. His fingers twitched with the pulsating adrenaline currents he'd once so anxiously anticipated and depended upon during his nights of vigilance, and now only the unrelenting apprehension of once again suit up and become the scourge of the evil in Gotham City. He also knew, for the first time since he'd become Batman, that he'd put the lives of others in direct jeopardy by becoming the Caped One once again.

He currently found himself staring a hole in the front windshield of his unused new transportation. He pictured himself at the wheel, his mind's eye putting him squarely in harm's way, racing off to thwart whatever evil the newly-escaped Joker and whoever else was with him may be perpetuating upon the people of Gotham.

But that was all in his mind. He also knew the possible repercussions of his re-emergence as Batman. Alfred's life had always been in possible danger if he were found out, as well as Lucius Fox, but now others were potentially in harm's way if he went through with what his impulses were telling him.

"Still," he reasoned internally, "at what point do the lives of my friends and loved ones become worth more than the people of Gotham who don't have anyone looking out for them?"

His internal debate was interrupted by an incoming text message from Alfred. Even in the most serious of circumstances, it always made Bruce chuckle when Alfred would text him from another part of the house while he was in the new cave. "I guess after the effort involved for him to learn to text, he's going to get his money's worth."

He flipped open his VERY expensive phone and began scrolling through his menu options. He noted the time and wondered immediately about Selina. "It's close to midnight," he observed, his concern for her safety growing. Then he opened his text mailbox.

_"Gordon indicted. Warrant issued for perjury."_

Wayne swore under his breath. This day was getting more surreal by the minute. Instead of sweeping the city trying to recapture the most dangerous man in the history of crime, the people who were supposedly responsible for he well-being of those who couldn't defend themselves had decided that incarcerating the only clean cop in the city was the most pressing priority of the law and order types down at City Hall. It made the now-constant sick feeling in his stomach lurch even more intense than it already was.

As he turned on the Gotham News coverage of the indictment on the giant monitor he'd had installed in the new Bat cave, his heart fluttered slightly to see Selina Kyle onscreen, reading off what was assuredly the worst news he'd heard in some time. In an instant his mind was made up. "I won't put on the suit," he reasoned, "but there's no harm in taking out the car."

He was right. No one knew what the car looked like, and he hadn't yet added the custom cast-iron bat insignia that he'd made himself here in his new fortress.

The new cave was magnificent. The contractors had been told they were building a subterranean gym/workout facility, theatre room and garage complex. And part of the massive underground sanctuary did function as all of those things. But then there was also what was known only in the blueprints as "auxiliary space." And what an auxiliary space it was. Top of the line large screen hi-def monitors, a military-grade supercomputer, the absolute pinnacle in testing facilities, and too many other wonders to name. Alfred had taken one look and called it "The Bat Cave." They'd even installed a nice platform in the old elevator shaft, vastly shortening the time it took to go from the grandfather clock to the staging area of the cave.

But all of these wonderful things had been for a different man. Now Bruce Wayne stood alone, no secret crime-fighting identity. Just a billionaire with good intentions. So he hopped in the car, switching on the various power and weapons systems, watching in anticipation as the screens and gauges flickered to life. He felt the ramp underneath the vehicle slide into place, threw the vehicle into gear, and sped off, for the first time in what felt like forever, sped off into the unknown night….

**That was a quick one. I acknowledge that. But I needed to spend three pages on the new car/cave. We'll get back to our police and mobsters soon….**

**Review, fuckers….**


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter 27**

**Sorry for the extreme delay. It's been a rough month or two.**

Harleen Quinzel was extremely disappointed in herself. She'd fallen asleep on the floor while conducting her investigation, a mistake she'd immediately attributed to the lack of sleep over the last day or two, then immediately noticed that she no longer heard the snores of the giant who'd been so deeply asleep before. She wondered what happened to him for just a split second before the contextually horrific sound of a vehicle pulling up in the short gravel driveway that fronted the dilapidated home she currently found herself in. she couldn't remember why she'd come to this particular room of the house, or why she hadn't yet tried to escape, but her mouth was parched and she had a taste in her mouth that she would've stopped at nothing short of licking an ashtray to cover up. Yet here she knelt, having found herself on the floor of the scariest place she's ever been, not able to remember the last several hours, and now she feared she would have to explain to the scariest man that she'd ever met why she was fooling around in a part of the house that she was completely sure she wasn't supposed to be in. She heard car doors slam, and felt tremors on the floor as the Joker's boots crashed against the steps on the way towards the front door. There seemed to be several sets of footprints that weren't there earlier, and Harleen now wondered if the Joker's recruiting mission had been more successful than she'd dared imagine. She'd read in the scholarly journals about the sorts of men the Joker's line of work had attracted the first time around, and she had no desire to share quarters with them in the near future.

She heard the door open. The creaks the worn hinges made upon opening ran a chill up the terrified doctor's spine. Voices, most of them in only partially states of coherence, echoed off the splintering plaster. She heard the Joker greeting Solomon, and then she heard words that froze her blood in the veins;

"Where's the good doctor?"

She heard Solomon answer, but she couldn't make out what it was he was saying. She heard several other sets of feet walk into another part of the house, then stopping. She also heard laughter, smelled the distinct aroma of cigarettes being lit, then felt the floor vibrate slightly with both the movement of furniture in another room and the heavy clomp of the Joker's worn-out boots. She tried hiding, but the darkness further disoriented her. How had she fallen asleep? How did she end up in this part of the house? What would the Joker do if he found her back here? Suddenly the corner of te room burst light across the rest of the dark expanse as the Joker roughly threw open the door.

"Hello, doctor." The Joker began in that now-familiar cadence. "Did you miss me?"

`With that, the Joker reached out, grabbed a handful of the frightened doctor's hair, yanked her roughly to her feet, and led her forcefully into the living room, where she saw for the first time the men who'd come in with the Joker. Other than Crane and Grundy, she saw between five and seven men that she knew she didn't want to get better acquainted with. The Joker continued on with Quinzel, leading her into what she guessed had once been the dining rom. She saw a big sack full of fast food he'd gotten from a place she'd seen down the street, and wondered which of his new minions he'd sent in for that. She did find a sense of mild amusement in thinking about the unfortunate drive-thru cashier who would've had to wait on Gotham's "Smiling Demon." She let the Joker pull out a chair, and she at down in it, reaching for the bag. She had no idea how hungry she'd gotten. She felt the Joker's gloved hand smack the back of her own.

"No, no," the Joker said in a mockingly high voice. He reached into the bag and set a burger in front of her. "You want to sneak around like a child, I'm going to treat you like a child. Now, eat." He unwrapped the greasy lump and slid it in front of Quinzel. She looked up at him, as if to ask if he was serious. His arched eyebrows assured her that he was. She began eating cautiously, waiting for the next twist in this bizarre turn of events. She'd gotten three bites into her cheeseburger before the Joker, seemingly satisfied, smirked and sat down in the seat adjacent to her. He nodded for the men in the room to come and claim the rest of dinner, and the clan sat down to eat in a sickening parody of family life in middle America. The Joker, swelling with a sick sense of pride and accomplishment at what he'd already created, motioned for the giant Grundy to sit next to him, pulling out two giant cheeseburgers for the child leviathan. He plopped them down in front of him, raised his eyebrows again, and asserted; "eat up, Gigantor." This act raised both the curiosity and the ire of one Dr. Jonathan Crane. Why was Joker courting the favor of a simpleton? Didn't he understand that it was Crane himself that Joker should be sucking up to? Crane crossed his arms and sat back in the thread-worn sofa. Soon, they would all be looking up at him…


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27 **

**Time to get moving again.**

**Thanks to all who read and review…**

**Daniel-**

**Seriously, man. Damn. Your reviews should be posted as a story on this site. Too bad they wouldn't get any reviews, either. They're not stupid enough.**

Selina Kyle couldn't believe her run of rotten luck. After she'd forgotten her nice purse at the ballpark, she'd been unable to contact her boss at GNN. Apparently, in the time it had taken her to get from her date with Bruce (which she now desperately wished to be back on) and broadcasting her report from the studio, she'd decided that maybe this news gig wasn't her thing. There was just too much bad news. And now, even as she walked to her parking spot, she realized why it was she'd felt a pair of eyes on her from the time she'd left the upstairs area of her office; someone was following her.

The man was staying behind her. Not close enough to harm her, for the time being, but not so far away to lower her awareness. The impact of her heels scraping concrete echoed throughout the otherwise silent parking garage, and another any other circumstance she would have found that her heart was beating exactly in time with her feet humorous. But not tonight. Tonight all she wanted to do was catch up with Bruce before it got too late. And it seemed as though one thing after another was going to prevent her from finishing her date with her handsome billionaire.

She pulled her car keys from the pocket of her coat, finding the device that locked, unlocked, started, and set off the alarm on her car. She found the proper button, then felt her heart jump as the chirp of her car alarm rang through the air. She could hear the paces of the man behind her quicken, and she knew then that she was in serious, serious trouble.

She heard a menacing male voice call out to her.

"Hey, Selina."

She turned, not recognizing her would-be assailant. He was short, but chubby, and he looked as though he had no issue attacking anyone and everyone for a few dollars. She now noticed, however, that several other attackers had now joined him, the sound of their feet having apparently been obscured by the sound of her own.

There were four of them total, and she couldn't decide if they'd been sent to attack her or if she were about to be another in a rash of recent random muggings. she did know that it didn't matter. Either way, they'd hurt her if given the chance, and that was completely unacceptable. She saw one of them, not the leader, draw in breath to speak again;

"Let's have that purse. No reason for anyone to get hurt."

With that, Selina put her purse on the ground, then drew her hands away, hoping to defuse the situation without violence befalling. The same man who'd asked for her purse now reached out and grabbed it, satisfied with the contents. She could tell one of these men had trouble on his mind. He inched towards her. "I watch you on the news. You're my favorite reporter," he said in a voice that betrayed his mental instability.

She tried to smile. "Well, thank you," she managed. "Can I go now?"

"Not so fast," the man blurted. He reached towards her, his right hand grazing her brown hair. "You're even prettier in person. And you smell so…nice." With that, he grabbed her coat and tried to pull her towards him. She shoved him away.

"Don't," she said, quietly.

"Well now, that's not nice," the man asserted, his stinking breath showering over Selina. She could see the glint of a knife blade in his left hand, and as his hand rose up, she took action.

She sidestepped the man's arm, allowing the arm with the knife to fly out past her. She grabbed his arm at the wrist, shoving her forearm into his elbow joint. She felt the bone break against her arm, and heard the man's scream pierce the silence. She turned towards the other men, braced for the worst, and saw another of the men headed towards her. She dropped, feeling another arm whizzing by over her head, and stuck out her leg, catching the back of both the men's legs. He fell, his breath leaving him as he hit the ground, and saw the third and fourth man headed for her. She felt yet another fist swing towards her, which she let go by. As she did this, she grabbed his arm and threw her hips into the body of the man, causing him to flip over her shoulder. She popped up, fists clenched, and watched as the fourth man turned and ran away. Hands trembling, she picked her purse up off the ground, grabbed her cell phone, got into her car, and sped away…


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter 29**

Bruce Wayne found the custom alterations made to the car he now found himself in to be far beyond anything he could've imagined when he'd taken his specifications to Lucius several months ago. He reminded himself that a special call was in order to his trusted friend so that he could thank him for the amazing work he'd done.

The car handled like a dream. The suspension was custom made, crafted from the designs from the lunar landing module, keeping all four tires on its own axle. The engine block rivaled the horsepower of most NASCAR teams, completely equipped with a prototype of the "quiet-cooled" engine systems that WayneTech had spent much of the last year on. The steering column was the equal to anything available on the commercial or military circuits, and all the computer mapping and tracking systems were so accurate that he found himself often not even looking through the windshield.

But all that was on Bruce's mind now was the disturbing silence on his state-of-the art police band scanner. For the last hour or so, all he'd heard were the repeated requests of Officer O'Hara for assistance go ignored. That's why he was headed for the Narrows now. He'd no idea whether or not he'd put on the "suit" he kept in the cargo area for emergencies. He'd had no idea when he designed the car that he'd be having the inner moral dilemma as to whether or not to ever bring his winged alter-ego into the public eye. Yet here he sat. He couldn't decide whether or not to first go to the Narrows to provide Chief O'Hara with much-needed backup, or whether he should go and see to Commissioner Gordon. He knew it was just a matter of time before cops would show up at the Gordon home to exercise the warrant on his perjury charge, but he couldn't figure out why anyone at city hall would wish to make this strong an example of Gordon.

He made the hard right turn onto the exit ramp and headed for the Narrows. While he considered Gordon a friend, and knew that whatever the plans were for him, they couldn't be good, he felt that Chief O'Hara was in the more immediate danger. What he'd do when he got there, he wasn't sure. But he knew he had to help Gordon's second in command. "Besides," he reasoned to himself, "if he's within a square mile of the Joker, his life IS in the most danger…"

Selina Kyle's hands couldn't stop shaking. Even now, as she sat in her apartment, her tears having long since subsided, she still couldn't calm the waves of adrenaline that still washed over her body. Her cell phone hadn't stopped receiving new messages over the last hour, from coworkers inquiring of her whereabouts and if she knew anything about what happened in the parking garage. She couldn't imagine it'd be too much longer before they saw the security tapes. Then her secret would be out. The years of training she'd put in at a small dojo thirty minutes outside of Gotham would be public knowledge (at least in her office) and she'd have to figure some excuse why she hadn't told them. She didn't suppose "it was none of your damn business" would suffice as a reason not to have told her coworkers.

She didn't want to be at her apartment right now. She knew that soon people would be there to check on her, and while she appreciated their concern, it really was for the best for all concerned that they not push her too far right now.

She didn't know why she'd been so insistent on keeping her training a secret. Ever since she'd made the decision never to allow herself to be a victim, the way her mother was, she'd been furiously learning various martial arts disciplines, even as early as the age of twelve. But she'd never used her knowledge in an actual situation before, and the notion of hurting those men as severely as she surely had was one that was unnerving, to say the least.

She reined in the shaking from her hands long enough to pull the cell phone out of the purse she'd worked so hard to get away from her would-be assailants. She could only think of one person whose voice she needed to hear. Her fingers were trembling, almost to the point of immobility, but she managed to scroll down her list of previous calls, finding the entry labeled "Bruce."

She could hear the phone ringing in her ear. Her eyes closed, and she began silently begging to any deity listening for Bruce to pick up. Just then the sound of action on the other line pierced her ears, and she heard the soothing voice she'd been longing for;

"Hello?"

"Bruce!" Selina began, her voice cracking with the strain of the days' events finally beginning to get to her.

Instantly he heard the stress fractures in her vocal variety. His own anxiety level, already at a degree he hadn't felt in months, welled up yet again in his stomach at the sound of Selina holding back tears. "This is why I didn't get involved with Rachel," he reminded himself. He tried to ignore the voice from another part of his brain saying "but you wanted to."

It wasn't the same situation, he reasoned to himself. He'd known Rachel his entire life, from the time they'd snuck condensed milk from Alfred's top shelf. His heart twinged with guilt as the memory of his inability to save Rachel from her gory death once again haunted his consciousness. Deep down, he knew he couldn't let harm befall Selena, no matter who else had to suffer because of it. He threw the monster vehicle into a u-turn, fired the engines into another gear, and sped away…


	29. Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Standard disclaimer here. F DC Comics.

Across the street from the house where the Joker was hiding, Chief Edward O'Hara was weighing his options. From the surface, none of them appeared to be any good. He could either abandon his vigil over the most wanted fugitive in Gotham, or he could make a move on his own and attempt to subdue the sadistic clown (and his subordinates) all on his own. He knew that descending upon this house all on his own would almost certainly lead to his own death, but there was something about giving up on pursuing this animal that galled him almost interminably. The total lack of response from police HQ may have been, at that very moment, even scarier than trying to apprehend the veritable "rogue's gallery" that now occupied the derelict cottage-style two-story house across the street from him.

He checked his watch, hoping to find some relief in the minute hand, but there were no answers to be found anywhere near the face of his custom Fossil piece given to him by his wife on his last birthday. He hated tough choices. He also hated not being able to get in touch with his immediate superior, Jim Gordon, either by police band or text message. He checked his gun, counted the extra ammunition clips on his belt, and exhaled deeply. Whatever was happening downtown wasn't nearly as important as trying to apprehend or incapacitate Gotham's painted menace, and no amount of worrying or indecisive thinking was going improve his current situation one bit. "At least if I move closer," he reasoned to no one in particular, "I might warm up a little bit." He breathed into his hands, rubbed them together, drew his police-issue weapon, and stealthily crossed the street towards the two-story destiny that now waited him.

Jimmy Viti couldn't help but feel a little proud of himself. The plan was going swimmingly. Busting the Joker and Dent out of Arkham. The exchange and subsequent shootout at the parking garage just minutes from where they currently sat. The supposedly random attack on Selina Kyle. Yes, along with the help of his silent backer, Viti's plan to return the Falcone Family to the throne of Gotham City crime was on track. He pulled his cell phone out of his lapel pocket, told his driver to speed up, and scrolled to a number listed only in his phone as "**phase 2**." He selected that number, then waited for the voice on the other end to pick up. Upon hearing said voice, Viti spoke only one sentence. "Initiate phase 2." He hung up, removed the memory stick from his mobile phone, crushed it in his gloved left hand, and let the contents fly out the open sunroof from his gloved left hand. He then hit a switch on the console to his immediate left, waited for the beep, and gruffly instructed his driver; "Iceberg Lounge." The driver, motivated by his immense desire not to anger the reputed mob boss he carried in his backseat, gunned the sleek limousine into high gear and sped down Gotham's empty streets.

Selina Kyle attempted in vain to alleviate the puffiness under her mascara-smeared eyes as she waited anxiously for Bruce Wayne to arrive at her apartment. She'd called the police earlier, but listened with a sinking stomach as she got only ringing on her phone. So now she waited, the emotions searing through her as she tried desperately to talk herself out of feeling like the helpless victim she'd promised herself she'd never be again. Her runaway thoughts were instantly refocused by the buzz over her intercom letting her know that her dream man stood outside on the street. Under most other circumstances, the thought that she was enough woman to have Gotham's most eligible bachelor standing outside in the cold waiting for her to buzz him in would have given her a twinge of pride, but not tonight. Tonight, she only wanted to be held, her relentless emotions to be soothed by the man she thought she'd missed out on. She pressed the button by her door allowing for visitors to open the door, and waited for Bruce to come up the noisy staircase to be with her. In spite of all her feelings, she allowed a small grin to pierce her chapped lips as she saw Bruce Wayne round the corner of her hallway, his black fleece pullover and workout pants betraying that he'd been settled in at home when she'd frantically called him. She met him with a silent, warm embrace, and the two of them ducked quickly into her apartment, leaving worries and impending dangers waiting at the door for them…


End file.
